


Put a Ring On It

by whentheyfall



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Angst, Asexual Relationship, Asexual Tom Riddle, BAMF Narcissa Black Malfoy, BAMF Tom Riddle, Biracial Character, Biracial Harry Potter, Blackmail, Bribery, Child Neglect, Coercion, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dubcon Cuddling, Eventual Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, F/M, Fear of Death, Female Harry Potter, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Forced Marriage, Gen, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Horcruxes, House Elves, Hurt Harry Potter, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Marriage Contracts, Master of Death Harry Potter, No Slash, No Smut, Non-Sexual Intimacy, One-Sided Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Parental Nagini (Harry Potter), Parselmouths, Parseltongue, Platonic Life Partners, Platonic Romance, Possessive Tom Riddle, Protective Nagini (Harry Potter), Protectiveness, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Sane Tom Riddle, Servants, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Threats, Under the Influence of Horcruxes, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24062881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whentheyfall/pseuds/whentheyfall
Summary: How far would you be willing to go to stop a war? To Harry Potter the answer is anything, including marrying the man who killed her parents.Female Harry; AU starting with the Graveyard Scene. Sane Voldemort.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 133
Kudos: 592





	1. shatterpoint

Harry watched in horror as a tall, pale form rose from the cauldron, hidden from the waist down by metal and smoke. His back was to her and Harry dreaded the moment he turned. The man--Voldemort, it was _Voldemort_ \--slowly lifted his arms. He ran his hands through wet, loose curls and tilted his head back. He breathed deeply for a moment, as if savoring the air. 

"Wormtail," Voldemort said softly. It was not the piercingly cold tone she remembered, but the velvety tenor of a memory from a diary. Pettigrew, still sobbing uncontrollably, extended a bone-white wand. Voldemort took it with all the care one would afford a newborn baby. He conjured a simple set of flowing black robes and pulled them on, stepping out of the cauldron. Then he turned.

Harry gritted her teeth and refused to scream. 

The handsome face of Tom Riddle stared back at her, seventy years old and not looking a day over twenty, if that. Burning scarlet eyes clashed unnaturally with the flush of youth about his cheeks and hair that still dripped water across his skin. He met her eyes, his head tilted like a curious bird. Trembling in pain and fear and cold, Harry glared with every ounce of burning hatred she possessed.

Voldemort's lips quirked up at the corners, the ghost of a smile, and he--looked away? Harry blinked in shock as the Dark Lord crouched and pulled Pettigrew to his knees.

"You have been loyal," he said simply, voice warm. He waved his wand and silver streaked through the air, coalescing in a gleaming hand. "Rise."

His eyes as huge as Harry's felt, Pettigrew bent and kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes before scrambling upright. Tom--no, Tom was dead, it was Voldemort. Voldemort drifted to where Harry was tied to the headstone.

Every atom in her body screamed for her to run, get away. She struggled against the ropes despite herself. Voldmort raised his hand and traced her scar. A ragged scream of pain tore from her throat; agony enveloped her skull, her stomach turned violently. 

Voldemort moved away slightly and watched her. 

"Interesting," he murmured, and raised his hand again. She flinched and braced herself. This time he ran the back of his fingers down her cheek. It hurt, but not as badly as before. Harry held Voldemort's gaze throughout it, teeth bared.

He laughed quietly and patted her on the same cheek. "Stubborn child." 

Voldemort lifted his wand. Harry braced for death, determined to face it with her head held high. 

"Stupefy."

...

Harry woke to a dream, which is to say she never really woke at all. She lay coiled before a roaring fire, scenting the air. Fear was the predominant smell-taste, and it amused her in a distant sort of way. Her snakelet stood over a half-circle of kneeling wizards, eyes burning and expression hard. 

"I underssstand perfectly, dear Luciusss," he hissed. "I understand that you were more frightened than loyal, and chose to save your own skin over honoring your solemn vows. What say you, _friend_?"

"I...I apologize deeply, my Lord, for my lack of belief and unforgivable cowardice. I will submit to any punishment my Lord sees fit to give."

"Yes," her snakelet said. "You will." 

He cast a spell she didn't know and the two-legger keeled over sideways, thrashing and making odd noises.

"Do any of you recognize this spell?"

Silence. 

" _Well?_ " He was greeted with a chorus of negatives and a threefold increase of the fear in the room. She hissed in amusement, savoring the flavor. 

"I thought not. It is a curse of my own design. At this very moment, our dear Lucius is experiencing a mere taste of of the fate I endured in the decade after my fall from grace. He is drifting in darkness, intangible, unable to see, hear, smell or feel anything. And worse than that, he is consumed by the unending agony of a soul in limbo, rejected by life and yet clinging to that which scalds it for survival."

Her snakelet was quiet, his piercing eyes slowly roving the assembled servants. They were all frozen, and she spotted at least three who didn't dare to breathe. 

"This, I think, is more fitting a punishment than any amount of physical pain. After the oblivion of death, Lucius will welcome pain with open arms. It is proof of life, after all."

He surveyed them a moment more, and his eyes softened infinitesimally 

"I have missed you, my friends. I understand the doubt and fear in the given circumstances, when Lord Voldemort appeared vanquished and the war lost. Forgiveness...is not out of reach, my Knights. But remember: I cannot die, and if I find your faith so lacking again, you will not find such mercy."

The servants bowed and scraped and positively stank of relief and uncertainty. 

"Now," her snakelet said, "Let us see how fares our dear Mr Malfoy."

He flicked his wand, and the fallen two-legger's writhing turned into stillness and heaving breaths. On a lesser wizard they might have been sobs.

Her snakelet crouched in front of the trembling man. He laid a hand on the two-legger's head. He shuddered visibly, and she could smell-taste acrid, bitterly reluctant gratefulness. 

The snakelet spoke softly enough that even she could barely hear, just a meter away from the two.

"I endured this for ten years, Lucius, finding my way only through the reach of my magic. You could have ended my suffering. I left you the means to so. And _you_. You sssquandered it on bloodtraitorsss and petty revenge!" Her snakelet's hand clenched in pale hair, tugging cruelly, before it relaxed into soft petting. 

"You are very lucky to be alive, Lucius. Now, what do we say?"

"Thank--thank you, my Lord, for sparing my life."

"Very good. Go and join the others."

The two-legger stood shakily and did as he was told.

"On to other business..." She found herself drifting off as her snakelet dove into the boring, necessary details involved in taking over the world. 

...

Harry woke with a start, shattering the sensations of dozing on a thick rug, warmth washing over her scales as she listened to a velvety voice. 

"Potter," Lucius Malfoy said, standing at the threshold of the room. Harry was laid out on a gigantically frilly bed, in a ridiculously floral room, mucking it all up with her filthy Tornament uniform. She bolted upright, feeling the conflicting desires to run, curse him silly, and ask if he was okay.

"The Dark Lord requests your presence. You have thirty minutes to prepare. Their are clothing choices in the wardrobe and the ladies' room is to your left."

"Yeah, well you can tell the 'Dark Lord' to shove i-- _oi_!"

Malfoy shut the door. Harry fumed several moments. If Tommy wanted her, he was ruddy well going to drag her kicking, screaming, and covered in dirt. She wouldn't be led along like some docile little lamb! 

A gentle knock at the door. Harry almost jumped out of her skin and a woman wearing a delicate butterfly mask floated inside. 

"Greetings, Miss Potter," she said in a voice like wind chimes, obviously spelled in some way. 

"What do you want from me," Harry said warily, scooting off the bed and backing away. She tried to remember if she'd seen any pointy objects in the vicinity. 

"My Lord has sent me here to help you dress."

"Well I don't need help," she spat. "Get out."

"I'm afraid not." The woman advanced gracefully, and when Harry tried to dart around her to the door, her wand shot out and petrified her faster than she could blink.

"Very unbecoming, dear." 

Harry swore at the top of her lungs, every curse she'd ever learned from Vernon and Ron and Ginny, but the woman was undeterred. She levitated Harry into the bathroom tub. With two flicks of her wand, the bath was filled with water and Harry's clothes vanished.

Harry screeched and covered herself, able to move again. The woman rolled piercing blue eyes.

"Please, we're both women. Now, will you wash yourself or must I call a house elf?"

"GET OUT!"

"I see. Mimsy!" A tiny elf wearing a tea towel toga popped into existence. "You will ensure Miss Potter is presentable by the time I return. You have ten minutes."

And she was gone.

"Oh my!" the little thing squeaked, snapping her fingers and lunging forward. And suddenly there were sponges everywhere, floral shampoo in her hair, and Mimsy was fussing with her nails.

"You is having no respect for your cuticles, young miss!"

Harry tried to tug her hands away but Mimsy was either shockingly strong or using magic. She clipped and shined them until her nails were frankly looking better than ever before, but still the elf wailed in despair. 

"This is being impossible! What is yous doing, wrestling dragons?"

"Something like that," Harry said, hit by a burst of wry humor. A warm bucket of water emptied over her head, pouring out far more than it should have held. 

Mimsy snapped her fingers again and the bathwater was gone. She filled it once more and the sponges attacked with renewed vigor. Thinking of was as good a time as any, Harry opened her mouth to pry for information, only to have it filled with bubbles.

"You is keeping your mouth shut please, miss," Mimsy said, rinsing out her mouth. 

Within minutes, Mimsy was done. Somehow. By trhe time the masked woman was back with several dress robes floating behind her, Harry was squeaky clean in odd, simple undergarments and a thin slip.

"Excellent. You are dismissed."

Mimsy curtsied and vanished with a pop. 

"Hmm." The woman spun her around like a mannequin and when Harry tried to lash out, froze and silenced her. She glared through the mirror, trying to convey her hated that way.

"That hair...well, I suppose we'll just have to work with it." She waved her wand and Harry watched as her hair grew several centimeters, only to be trimmed back to it's normal length, just not so choppy. 

"Growing out hair with magic really is terrible," she lectured absently, cutting off more so that it was layered and voluminous instead of frizzy, and completely eliminating her fringe. "Completely strips it of nutrients. But bangs don't suit you at all, I'm afraid. And your split ends were the stuff of nightmares."

The woman unfroze her and a plan bloomed in her mind. Harry stayed still and docile, letting her jailer hold up different dresses and mutter to herself. She allowed the corset with minimal fussing and barely scowled when the woman pulled a ridiculous gauzy green thing over her head.

"Well, I suppose you clean up nicely enough," she said critically. "If only there was time for make-up..."

"I can't see."

"Humph. Those glasses...no; I'm sorry, but there's no redeeming them. I had Mimsy throw them out."

"You did what?!" How was she going to escape when she couldn't even barely make out her own face in the mirror!? 

That moment, Mimsy popped back inside.

"Time is being up, Mistress." 

"Yes, of course." The woman hustled her out, and Harry carefully noted her lax grip on her wand. 

"You forgot shoes," Harry said. The woman brought a manicured hand to her plump mouth.

"Oh! Ridiculous of me." And just like Harry predicted, she went to conjure some then and there. She struck, twisting the wand out of her grip. The conjuring went haywire, exploding violently, and Harry used the distraction to bolt down the hall. 

A man stepped around the corner, looking perfectly battle ready. 

"Stupefy!" Harry snapped, while really wordlessly summoning the ornate mirror on the wall behind him. He fell in a dazed heap and Harry did stun him then. She kept on running, crying out as glass stabbed her feet, headlong into a masked and hooded Lucius Malfoy. 

Her escape attempt didn't last long after that.

Malfoy marched her down the corridor, bound with deceptively delicate silver chains. She was limping, leaving behind a trail of bloody footprints, but he didn't seem to care. Finally they reached opaque glass doors.

"It was nice knowing you, Potter," Malfoy sneered. His eyes, the only piece of him she could see, burned. Something stirred in her belly. Harry's scar, which had been on fire since she woke, pulsed hotly.

"Know your place, Luciusss," she lisped, and watching his face blanch white was well worth the dirty feeling she got from imitating Voldemort. 

Before Malfoy could retaliate, the double doors swung open and a painfully familiar voice called, "Enter."

Harry faced forward. She raised her chin, squared her shoulders, and refused to limp as Malfoy escorted her inside. 

Voldemort, still terrifyingly human, was sat at a resplendent tea table for two. The back wall was covered in soaring bay windows, undoubtedly reinforced by magic.

"You may go."

"Yes, My Lord."

Harry stood just inside the doors as they closed, eyes locked on her parents' murderer. Her heart thudded with a nauseating mix of hatred and terror. She wanted to run. She wanted to grab the teapot and smash it over his head. She--

"Sit, Harriet."

A petulant, "make me" was on the tip of her tongue, but she knew he really would. Reluctantly, Harry made the last few steps and sat, her arms still chained to her sides. She regretted it instantly. This close, his magic was like a black hole, sucking her forward. Harry had to stop herself from leaning in.

"Voldemort," she said hoarsely. He smiled and waved his hand. The chains rearranged themselves, slithering over her torso to coil around her neck. Like jewelry perfectly capable of strangling her.

"Greetings, dear. I trust the accommodations have been to your comfort?"

"Oh yeah, I just love being kidnapped and paraded around like a doll," Harry said before she could think better of it. She tensed in anticipation of torture and mad rage, but Voldemort only chuckled.

"How charming. Please, help yourself." And because Harry was starving and he had better ways of killing her than poison, Harry did just that. Voldemort watched her intently over his teacup, which Harry knew from all of Petunia's afternoon tea parties was very rude. Not that a serial killer cared about tea etiquette. 

Finally the silence wore down her already non-existent patience. 

"What do you want with me?" Harry was very proud of the way her voice didn't crack. 

"Take a guess," Voldemort murmured.

"To kill me," Harry said with absolute certainty. She'd known that since she was eleven. "But why this whole farce?"

"You're only a child," Voldemort pointed out. "Perhaps I wish to lure you to my side instead."

"I'm not a child! Not that you have any problem with that sort of thing. You've tried to kill me three times now, in case you can't remember!"

"Unfortunate lapses in judgement." He waved the accusations away. 

"Lapses in--you--"

Voldemort interrupted her. "In any case, you are nevertheless correct. I have no desire to kill you--"

"Liar."

"--but I will not hesitate should you choose to stand against me. Do not make this decision lightly, Harriet."

"I will NEVER join you," Harry whispered, fury welling up so thick it was hard to breathe. "I don't care what you do to me. You _killed my parents_. I hate you."

Voldemort sighed. "I thought as much."

He stood and raised his wand, the tip already glowing malignantly. Harry shot to her feet and grabbed a knife from the table. She would die standing, go down fighting, just like her mum and dad! 

_"Such spirit you have. It really is a pity,"_ Voldemort said as the knife grew red-hot and she dropped it with a cry. The chain around her neck coiled, growing tighter with excruciating slowness.

 _"Go to the crows,"_ Harry choked out, the oldest of Wizarding death curses she could remember. She wasn't sure if they really worked or not, but by Merlin she would not let him get out of this unscathed.

Suddenly, the chain went lax. Harry dropped to her knees, gasping desperately as her blood flow returned. 

_"You...you are a Parselmouth."_

Harry was too busy breathing to respond. Voldemort dropped to his knees beside her. Harry tried to scramble away but his pale hand shot out like a viper, grabbing her face. She met Voldemort's eyes and the world dissolved.

_She was eight, running from Dudley and wishing she were anywhere else. She felt a squeezing sensation and landed on the school roof--_

_She was twelve and dying, a young Tom Riddle halfway between disgust and triumph as she sobbed and bled, but then she stabbed the dang into his Diary and who was crying_ now _\--_

_She was four and learning to cook bacon--_

_She was six--_

_Nine--_

_She lay in her cupboard, bleeding and exhausted--_

_Thirteen and elated, Harry tackled her Godfather in a hug, chanting 'yes' over and over again. After a stunned pause he hugged her back, startlingly strong for someone so thin and wasted--_

_She stood in Dumbledore's office, a sword in one hand and evidence of her murder in the other._

_"When Voldemort tried to kill you that fateful night, it is my theory that he lent you some of his power instead."_

_"You--you mean there's part of Voldemort in me? The Hat was right. I should be a Slytherin!"_

_"Oh, my dear. It is our choices that make us who we are--_

Harry resurfaced to wide scarlet eyes and a look of complete and utter shock. Her limbs were rubbery and unstable and her head felt like it had been through a blender. 

"No," Voldemort breathed. "That's not possible." He let go of her face only to seize her hair and drag Harry upright. He shoved her into a chair just as her knees collapsed.

Voldemort knelt so they were of a height, and pressed his palm across her scar. Harry screamed, louder than she ever had in her life. She thrashed, she clawed bloody furrows in his skin, she kicked him where no man wants to be kicked. Voldemort held fast.

Then there was a sensation of something bursting in her head, a frightening sort of snapping that signaled something was very, very wrong. The pain drained from her scar as hot liquid dripped down her face. 

Harry kept screaming, because something was _not right_ ; there was something metaphysical squirming its way through blood and bone and magic, rooting itself in the core of her being. Merlin it hurt, it hurt on a level she'd never felt before, accompanied by a feeling of intense violation and--

Then it was over. Harry couldn't move. Her eyes were open, and slowly Voldemort's face came into view. She was flat on the floor, her wrists pinned, her enemy hovering over her. She wanted to struggle, to make her parents proud, maybe headbutt the psycho in his perfect nose. But she was so tired.

 _"You will tell nothing of what happened in this room!"_ Voldemort demanded. 

Harry cursed at him again, voice embarrassingly weak. He squeezed her wrists harder, until she was sure they would break.

_"You will promise me, or I will go out and kill every muggle in a kilometer radius, and then all of your little friends!"_

_"You can't--"_

_"I will. Swear to me!"_ His magic slammed into her in waves. Harry moaned in pain, too tired to scream.

_"I--I swear! I won't tell anyone. Please!"_

The pain ended. Harry shuddered, vision going in and out. Her eyes drifted shut, and sensation faded away.

...

A horcrux. Harriet Potter was a horcrux. Voldemort stared down at her deceptively fragile from, blood streak across her face. Slowly he released her wrists, noting the dark bruises developing. 

He stood, running his hands through hair that was already a complete mess.

A horcrux. And Dumbledore--! He knew, he had to. Salazar, he had to check on his other horcruxes _now,_ had to hide away Nagini and the girl--

The _girl_. Of course she had the power to destroy him if she were carting around a piece of his immortal soul around in her head! Voldemort swore. He felt for the web of magic that was his Knights' Dark Marks and pulled. 

Lucius appeared instantly. 

"Take the girl back to her room," he snarled. "No harm is to come to her. If she escapes, I'll take it out of your son's hide."

Voldemort didn't wait to hear Lucius' answer. He apparated at once, some two miles from his current residence of Riddle House. A dilapidated shack, with more dust than air to breathe. He dismantled to wards with one vicious slash of his wand, and summoned the ring from its hiding place.

It hit his palm with stinging force and Voldemort relished it, bathed in the relief that came from having part of his fractured soul so close by. He slipped the ring onto his finger and apparated again.

Cliffs loomed craggily around him, ocean mist spraying his face. Voldemort rose into the air and flew across the water, slipping into the cave entrance. It recognized him, stone melting away to open his path.

The boat appeared undisturbed, but that didn't help the churning sensation in his gut. It had been so long since Lord Voldemort felt fear. Said fear proved accurate when he reached the basin on the island. He didn't even need to touch it to know the locket was a fake.

Voldemort clenched his teeth around a scream of fury. Ice filled his veins. He turned, robes snapping, and faced the water.

 _"Bring me the thief!"_ he said. They couldn't have gotten away. The whole cave was a death trap! And sure enough, the water churned, and dead hands lifted out what at first glance appeared to be another corpse.

"Rennervate," he seethed, and Regulus Black's eyes flew open. 

"What--who--who are you?" he said, coughing up water. Ah. Of course, the sniveling traitor wouldn't recognize him in his original form, and it was too dark to see the red of his eyes.

"Gaunt. Marvolo Gaunt. Are you well?"

"I'm alive," the traitor responded warily. "How did you find me?" Voldemort could see his fingers itching for a wand that wasn't there. He was weak yet, his gaze unfocused, but was doing remarkably well overall. It would make it that much more satisfying to crush him. 

"I used homenum revelio and the spell came up positive. I--I saw the inferi, but they don't seem to be active anymore, I suppose because the Dark Lord is dead."

"The Dark Lord is dead?" the traitor repeated. "The Dark Lord--yes! Kreacher must have done it!"

"Done what?" Voldemort asked innocently. The traitor grinned at him.

"Destroyed something very dark keeping Lord Voldemort alive."

Voldemort made sure to widen his eyes in shock and awe, playing up his youthful appearance. 

"Wait--this Kreacher is the reason You-Know-Who's dead? Whoever he is, he's a hero!"

The traitor laughed a little hysterically. "I know! Brilliant! Just think of It! A house elf, the downfall of Lord Voldemort. Ha-ha!"

Voldemort stilled. "A house elf," he whispered. _The_ house-elf. The one he used all those years ago. 

Even the traitor's addled brains seemed to notice something was wrong when the cave started to tremble. He screamed as rock crashed and crystals shattered. Voldemort left the whimpering scum to his fate and apparated back to Riddle Manor. There, Nagini and the girl were safe, hidden away under the Fidelius Charm. 

_Harriet._ He needed her safe, but more than that he needed what she could be used to obtain. The traitor's brother had escaped from Azkaban not so long ago. Sirius Black was Harriet's godfather, he knew from her memories. He could use that to get the locket, if it wasn't already too late. 

And that was the least of her uses. 

Voldemort loitered on the moonlit grounds until he was calm enough that he wouldn't slaughter his Knights of Walpurgis on sight. When he entered, Voldemort went straight for what he only semi-ironically called his throne room and gathered several essential materials.

He summoned Lucius posthaste, with no concern for the way his servant's eyes lingered on Harriet's blood, still covering his hands.

"I require your wife," he said. Lucius choked.

"My--my Lord?"

It took him a moment to realize where Lucius' mind had gone, and he surprised himself by rolling his eyes. Voldemort had absolutely zero interest in sex.

"Not like that, Lucius. Just bring her here. And the boy too." He caught the worried look Lucius hid expertly and softed his expression just a hair. "They are in no danger. You have had your punishment, my friend. Now go."

He went, and returned some ten minutes later with an impressively composed Narcissa Black Malfoy and a trembling young Draco Malfoy. 

"Take your son and leave us, Lucius," he ordered. They bowed, and Draco's frightened expression was not lost on him. It was something of an effort to smile at the child he knew had tormented his horcrux, but a kinder image than previous was necessary. He couldn't afford to loose any more followers to fear. 

"Be at peace, Draco. Your mother will not be harmed at this time."

The boy squeaked out something like "thank you milord" and they were gone. Voldemort surveyed the woman before him, with her dual-toned hair and impeccable demeanor. 

"Greetings, Cissy. I have a task for you."

"Whatever my Lord commands."

"Yes," he agreed absently. "I remember Bella boasting of your acting skills. You are still in practice, I assume?"

"I--yes, my Lord."

"Excellent. Your character is this: you are a young new recruit, the child of two Death Eaters, but you have witnessed the insanity and brutality of Lord Voldemort first-hand. You are disillusioned with your parents and their archaic views and servitude to a madman. And so you have decided to strike a blow to the Dark by helping Harriet Potter escape. I trust this is within your capabilities."

"Yes, my Lord. What is my name?"

"You shall not give Potter this name quite yet, but the face of your character will be one Delphini Lestrange. The poor girl will not mind, I am sure." He looked closely for a reaction and was not disappointed. 

"Delphi--my sister's daughter is alive?"

"Well. For a given definition of 'alive'. Bella was pregnant when she was sent to Azkaban as you well know. What is not so well known is that she never miscarried. Delphini was born in the prison, her soul taken by the Dementors when she was yet a babe."

"No," Narcissa breathed, face alive with horror and hatred. "No."

"I am sorry," Voldemort said, and truthfully he was. Any child of Bella and Rudolphus was sure to be a powerhouse when grown. He had even contemplated adopting the girl, raising her to be his new right hand when her mother inevitably passed. 

"There are none in the public and few in the Ministry who know of this travesty. It was instigated by Bartemius Crouch Senior. It was he who discovered the baby's body and took her to a private facility specializing in Dementor trauma. The hospital believes her a victim of my own rule, because of that cowardly filth. I have had him...taken care of."

He paused.

"If you require a few days to recuperate, this is acceptable to me."

"I thank you for your kindness, milord, but it is no great blow. I thought my niece long dead in any case."

 _Lies,_ Voldemort thought, but allowed her to keep the delusion if that was what it took to hold herself together.

"I have procured hair for the use of Polyjuice Potion," he said. "And...my servant acquired a photograph as well. It is no replacement, but I hoped it might ease your pain."

He handed her a long, dark ringlet, the gold-framed photo, and a letter containing more exact details of her mission, which would self destruct as soon as she finished reading it. Narcissa took them with shaking hands, staring at the picture hungrily. Delphini was the spitting image of Bella, with her large eyes and curly hair, but a slim button nose characteristic of the Lestrange family. 

Narcissa bowed over the photograph. Her shoulders shook, but when she looked up again her eyes were dry and fierce. 

"I will not fail you, my Lord."

"I know you won't, Cissy," he said softly, gathering his magic soothingly around them and laying his hand on her head. "I know you won't. You may send in Draco now. And tell no one of this mission, not even Lucius."

"Yes milord."

She curtsied lowly and retreated from the Hall. Her fair haired son, every inch the Malfoy, entered after her. 

He knelt. 

Voldemort let him languish there for a moment, narrowing his eyes. Draco Malfoy, according to Barty's accounts, was intelligent, pragmatic, spiteful, cowardly and had a massive blind spot that was entirely Potter-shaped. Barty suspected he fancied the girl. Useful.

"Rise, child, and look at me."

He leaned forward and took the boy by the chin. "Lower your Occlumecy shields, there's a good boy. Now, this shouldn't hurt a bit..."

He delved gently into the boy's mind, and it did not take long at all to realize much of his thought process revolved around Harriet. Draco had been obsessed with the girl since she first rebuffed his offer of friendship at age eleven, an obsession made of equal parts fascination, bitterness, and admiration.

Voldemort pulled back to the surface of his mind, leaving the boy shaking again. It was from fear, not pain. 

"My--my Lord, I--"

"Hush, child," he soothed, inwardly smirking. "I hold no enmity for your feelings. They're perfectly natural, at your age."

The boy turned pink. Cute. 

"I have a task for you, Draco." He straightened immediately, the blush fading from his cheeks. His face fell into a mask akin to Lucius'. It did not particularly suit him. 

"Anything, milord. I am honored to serve." And it was true, Voldemort sensed. Draco Malfoy wanted everything he'd been told the Dark Lord would bring. His only compunctions concerned the probable death of Harriet Potter. Time to lay those concerns to rest.

"Very good, Draco. Your task is this: you will watch Harriet Potter, keep her from harm, and befriend her if you can. The girl could be a powerful asset, and her conversion a death blow to Dumbledore and his sheep. Can you do this for me?"

"Yes!" Hope, relief and determination flooded the boy's mind. "I mean, yes, my Lord. I will."

"Excellent. Your mission will start in the morning--" it wouldn't, he would have Narcissa break her out tonight-- "so I suggest you get a good night's sleep. Run along to your parents, little dragon."

The boy bowed so deeply he almost looked like a house elf, and practically skipped from the chamber. 

Voldemort's mood soured at the thought of house elves, the little vermin. Time to erect some new wards.

And after that, well, he still had world domination to plan.


	2. fallout

Harry stared at the ceiling, wondering why nothing made sense anymore. Voldemort wasn't bald and snake-y. Okay, fine. Doesn't matter what evil looks like on the outside.

Voldemort made her dress up all fancy. Well, he was rather dramatic, wasn't he? With his anagrams and giant death snakes and insistence on always using her full name.

But not killing her? That was the least Voldemort-esque thing she could even think of! She could understand why he stopped strangling her to torture her instead. He was angry she'd stolen his magic and--best she could figure, anyway--went ahead and took it back. That was probably why her scar didn't hurt anymore. 

But why in Godric's name wasn't she dead?! Not that she necessarily wanted to be dead, but she couldn't think of any reason why Voldemort would want Harriet Potter alive.

Unless he wanted to kill her in public.

Oh Merlin, that was it, wasn't It? He decided he was going to do a public execution. He would make Dumbledore watch, and all her friends, and ruddy Malfoy and the Slytherins would probably cheer--

"I won't," Harry snarled. Spite firmed into determination. If it came to it, if Dumbledore and the Aurors couldn't rescue her, Harry would hang herself before letting her friends watch her be tortured to death. After all, she thought, shooting a dark look at the wardrobe full of very Slytherin looking dresses, she had more than enough fabric. 

Decided, Harry stood up, only to freeze as the doorknob wiggled. Harry had managed to rip one of the doors off the wardrobe and she grabbed it now. She ghosted over to stand in a blind spot and raised her piece of wood.

"Greetings," a young voice whispered. "Miss Potter? 

Harry's insides seized momentarily with indecision, and she watched as a short, curly haired girl tip toed into the room. 

"Miss Potter?" she repeated. "Don't be afraid. I'm here to help."

Harry shut the door quietly and leaped at the other girl, wrestling her wand away and dropping her makeshift weapon on the bed. 

"Who are you?" she demanded in a similar whisper, holding her at wandpoint. The girl stilled, raising her hands in surrender, but her face was calm and composed. She couldn't have been older than thirteen or fourteen at the very most.

"You can call me Stella."

"And that's your name, star?"

" _No_. But it's what you can call me."

"Okay, fine. What kind of help are you offering, _Stella_?"

Stella's eyes darted around nervously, though she kept her back stubbornly straight. She leaned forward and put her mouth so close to her ear that Harry got shivers. 

"I'm going to help you escape."

Hope bloomed in her chest. 

"Why?"

"Because the Dark Lord is--because he's mad. And I don't want to end up like my parents."

Harry slowly lowered the wand. "You're doing the right thing. _Thank you_ , Stella."

She nodded curtly, but Harry made out a pleased blush through the gloom.

"Oh course I am," Stella sniffed, nose in the air. She must have been related to Malfoy to pull that expression off. Harry grinned, heart rabbiting against her rip cage. No need for suicide after all.

"When do we leave?"

"Now, if you're ready, Miss Potter."

"I am! And, you can just call me Harry, you know."

"Oh. Well then...Harry. If you give me my wand back we can be going," Stella said a little pointedly. Harry handed it over. 

"Thank you. I'm going to disillusion you now, okay? But people will still be able to hear you, so don't make a noise."

With that, the strange girl tapped Harry on the head, presumably turning her invisible. Then she turned and marched right down the corridor, not bothering to soften the sharp click of her tall heeled boots.

Harry gaped as she scurried after her on bare, bandaged feet. Stella was _insane!_ The first time they passed a Death Eater, Harry thought they were done for. But Stella didn't miss a beat, nodding sharply at the man. He nodded back, and they went their separate ways.

Scratch that. Stella was totally wicked. Harry found herself in awe of her rescuer the longer they went on. She never faltered, never blinked, never gave the slightest hint that something was off. 

Finally they crawled from a passageway under the kitchens and emerged onto a grassy yard just starting to be touched by pre-dawn sunlight.

"Okay. This is as far as I can go. There's a muggle village just down the hill, maybe a fifteen minute walk down the black road. You can Floo call someone there, I suppose?"

Harry giggled. Purebloods.

"No, no Floo. But I will call someone." Impulsively, she leaned forward and hugged her. "You can come with me, you know."

Stella returned the hug tentatively, then melted into it. Harry imagined the poor girl didn't get much in the way of physical affection, living with murderous Death Eaters. She squeezed harder.

"I--I can't. I still have family here; if I can convince them to leave too then maybe...Could, I mean, if that did happen, might you put in a good word for us?"

Harry pulled back and held Stella at arm's length, looking her seriously in her silvery eyes. 

"Absolutely! I'll never forget this, I promise."

Stella looked like she was fighting a watery smile. Harry felt her own eyes start to well up with sympathetic tears. 

"Thank you."

"No, thank _you_. I...If it's ever safe for you, write to me, okay?"

"Ah...I don't know if I'm cut out to be a spy, Harry."

Harry shook her head. "No, not that. I mean, if you were that'd be wicked brilliant, but don't put yourself in danger. Just, write if you ever get lonely. Yes?"

"Oh. Yes, I'll try."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Well, I guess this is goodbye for now."

"Farewell, Harry. Good luck."

"You too," Harry whispered as Stella crept back into the passage. Harry hiked up her ripped gossamer skirts and took off at a jog. It took her several minutes to find the roads in the darkness, but once she did Harry practically flew down it, like she was Hermes with wings on her feet. 

She almost cried when the first street lamp came into view. Harry paused under it, looking down at herself. Mimsy had bandaged her feet, true, and wiped her face and neck with a damp rag. But the Slytherin-green dress was covered in dust and splattered with blood. The bodice had ripped sometime during Voldemort's little torture session, barely preserving her modesty. And she hadn't been able to pry the chain from her neck. 

Well. At least at would be easy to believe she'd been kidnapped. 

Harry stood there a moment, working up some good, fat crocodile tears. Then, once they were rolling freely down her cheeks Harry stumbled into the village proper, sobbing and shaking. 

A milkman saw her first, dropping the bottles he was carrying with a mighty crash. Harry jumped and that part wasn't even an act, though her frightened shriek was.

"Bilmey!" he exclaimed, rushing forward. Harry edged back despite herself. He stopped, raising his hands. 

"Hey now lass, it's alright. Are ye hurt?"

Sniffling, Harry nodded.

"My name is Sean. What's yours?"

"Harriet," she said. People started to come out of their houses, alerted by the crash. She shrunk under the gazes, feeling very small and dirty. She always hated people looking at her. 

A short, plump woman approached. She reminded Harry of Mrs Weasley, despite the fact that this lady was dark skinned with hair like Hermione's and Mrs Weasley was pale and red haired. 

"Hello there," the woman said. "I'm Beatrice. You're Harriet, yes? Do you have someone to call?"

Harry nodded. She had Hermione's telephone number memorized by heart. 

"Okay, that's good. If you'll follow me, I can take you to the police station so you can call them."

Harry swallowed, suspicion flaring. She needed to be gone before Voldemort realized she was missing. But how did she know this woman wasn't a Death Eater in disguise, planted here in case she escaped? 

"I won't hurt you," Beatrice murmured, her chocolate eyes sad and earnest. "I swear by my mother's grave."

"...Okay," she said, and followed the Beatrice down the street, wincing as she stepped on a piece of gravel. 

"It's just around the corner," Beatrice said, shooting a frankly adorable glare at some of the other muggles when they started to follow, gawking at her like she was a zoo animal.

"Don't mind them, luv. Nothing exciting has happened around here in the last fifty years."

They rounded the corner, and Harry had never been so happy to see a police station in her life. The officers acted so kind, too--they got het water and biscuits and a blanket. The police in Little Whinging had never treated her with anything other than suspicion and disdain. They even let her call the Grangers before asking any questions!

Hermione's mother picked up on the first ring.

"Hello?"

"Dr Granger? Erm, this is Harriet Potter, Hermione's friend--"

"HARRY! Robert get the Floo powder, it's Harry! Are you alright, dear? Do you know where you are? Just hold on, Robbie is sending word to the school now!"

Harry felt like crying for real then, and squeezed her eyes shut tightly. "I'm fine. I don't know where I am, um, it's--"

"Little Hangleton, in Hove," an officer said.

"--it's Little Hangleton, in Hove," she repeated. She listened with baited breath to a man yelling something on the other live, followed by elated chatter. About five seconds later she heard the diatinctive crack of apparition and bolted from the station.

"They're here!" she yelled, and Merlin she hoped she was right and it wasn't Death Eaters.

She burst into pale sunlight, dodging the officers who tried to grab her. Harry skidded to a stop in front of the group of red-robed Aurors standing in the town square. 

Safe.

"We got Potter!" a pink haired witch called, reminding Harry of her first year Sorting. The Aurors crowded protectively around her, forming a circle with her in the middle. One blue skinned wizard and a tall, muscular witch started the process wiping the muggles' memories, so Harry guessed they were the Obliviators.

"Take my hand luv, and we'll be out of here right quick," the pink haired, strangely familiar witch said. Harry took her hand as instructed, beyond eager to be gone. And in a twist and a crack they were.

"Harry!" a voice cried, and Harry found herself swept up in velvety green robes. "Oh, you poor wee bairn! We thought we'd lost you!"

Harry clutched Professor McGonagall fiercely. 

"So did I," she confessed with a wet laugh. 

"Out of my way now, out of the way! Miss Potter! By Helga am I glad to see you safe!" The Minister appeared and McGonagall released her. Harry took a deep breath and wiped her face, only to flinch as a camera flashed.

Rita Skeeter. And about twelve other reporters. Suddenly Harry was all too aware of how she looked, barefoot and bloody, her hair a mess, with big fake tear tracks down her cheeks. 

"Give the child some space!" McGonagall thundered, stepping between Harry and the horde. 

"Quite right," the Minister snapped as he wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders. "This girl needs privacy! Go on now, shoo!"

"Minister, if I may stay? The public deserves to know what happened!"

Fudge hesitated. Skeeter narrowed her eyes, the floating quill scribbling down something Harry doubted was complimentary. He folded like wet tissue. 

"Oh very well! Ms Skeeter, Professor McGonagall, and Auror Shacklebolt, you come with us. Dolores, go and Floo a Healer, then bring them and join us."

A rather frumpy witch hurried towards the fire as the Minister ushered the group into a lift, reporters still yelling behind them. 

"Minister's office," Fudge said to nobody, moping his forehead with a handkerchief. 

"Proceeding to Level One," a robotic female voice replied. Harry's eyes nearly popped from her skull. Skeeter's camera man snapped a picture and Harry gritted her teeth.

It was only a few seconds before the lift stopped and they stepped out. Witches and wizards rushed back and forth, papers soaring across the room in a barely organized storm. Nobody paid any mind to the Minister hustling them into his office.

Professor McGonagall conjured a squashy red arm chair just like the ones in the Common Room. Harry sank into it gratefully and McGonagall added a blanket. 

Another flash of the camera. Skeeter was practically glowing with delight, and Harry cringed to think of what the papers would look like tomorrow. 

The tall, dark skinned Auror stood guarding the door. Fudge sighed as he levitated his office chair over the desk. He settled it across from Harry and took her hands in his own. He winced when he saw the black bruises ringing her wrists, and Harry was about to deck Skeeter's photographer, because he got that on film too. 

"Unless you want me to transfigure it into a cardinal, I suggest you put the camera down," McGonagall said icily. 

"But that would ruin the pictures!" he protested. 

" _Precisely_."

He put the camera down. 

"Alright Miss Potter. We might as well get down to it. Dolores will be a while with that Healer, considering what happened at Hogwarts."

"What? _What_ happened! Professor--my friends, are they alright?"

"Hush dearie, no-one was killed, only injured. Mr Weasley and Miss Granger are not unscathed but expected to make full recoveries."

"But what happened?" 

"Someone set off an explosive two days ago, in the middle of the stands for the third task. By the time the monitoring arrays were recovered, you were nowhere to be found."

Harry put her head in her hands. She felt sick. Voldemort had attacked innocent bystanders just to kidnapp her from Hogwarts.

"Is that why Dumbledore isn't here?" she asked. 

Fudge shifted. "Yes, in part. But what's important is that we get your side of the story, so we can put this attacker to justice. Let's just...start from the beginning. What happened to you in the maze?"

Harry swallowed. 

"Right. The maze. I--I was, you know. Fighting my way through. Er, there was a sphinx, a Dementor and then--"

"We already know this part, Miss Potter," McGonagall interrupted gently. "All of the tasks were monitored very closely in case of incident, and projected for the spectators to see. What happened after Mr Krum accosted out Mr Diggory?"

"Oh. Right. Well, I hid in a hedge until Krum left, then went and checked on Cedric. He was okay, just knocked out, so I shot up red sparks and kept going. About a minute later I found the Cup. But when I grabbed it, it turned out to be a Portkey to some cemetery. I suppose I must have been knocked out, because the next thing I remember is waking up tied to a tombstone..." She trailed off, seeing it in her mind's eye, feeling the pain and horror as Voldemort rose again.

"Miss Potter," Fudge prompted, squeezing her hands gently. Harry snapped out of it.

"Right. S-sorry. I was tied up, and Pettigrew was standing over me with a knife. He cut my arm," here she showed them the puffy, unbandaged cut down her forearm, which oddly didn't hurt at all, "and took some of my blood and put it in this big cauldron."

"Pettigrew?" Skeeter cut in. "Related to Peter Pettigrew, the martyr?"

"No," Harry said coldly. "He _was_ Peter Pettigrew, the _traitor_."

"Miss Potter was confounded by Sirius Black into believing Pettigrew is alive," the Minister said hastily, before Skeeter could write anything down. "No doubt he was behind this kidnapping as well."

"Sirius did not--" Harry began, but Professor McGonagall shot her a look, shaking her head.

Harry gritted her teeth. "Fine, whatever. Pettigrew took my blood, and a bit of bone from the grave, and then--and he cut off his right hand. Then he put this--this sort of scaly, sick looking baby in the cauldron too."

"A homunculus," McGonagall said, her face pale. "It must have been."

"And then he came out, all fully grown and-and then--'

"Who was it, Miss Potter?" Fudge urged.

"Voldemort," Harry whispered. Fudge let go of her hands as if scalded. McGonagall gasped. Skeeter swore colorfully, the camera man shrieked, and the Auror closed his eyes.

"That's impossible!" Fudge shouted. "You must be mistaken--perhaps you were drugged, hallucinating, or just flat out delusional--" 

"Let the girl finish!" McGonagall snapped, shooting him a glare so fierce her eyes glowed with magic. The Minister sat.

"It was Voldemort, but he--but it didn't look like Voldemort," Harry said lamely. "He was young, and he had hair, and a nose. Eyes were still red though."

"It didn't look like Voldemort," the Minister repeated, collapsing into his chair. "Thank Merlin. It was an imposter, dear girl, a phony. We got more than our fair share of them after the war ended. The latest was actually a Defense Professor, if you can believe it."

"What? No, Quirrel really was Voldemort! And so is this!"

The Minister exchanged a pitying look with Skeeter. 

"No, dear, I'm afraid not. It was proven that Quirinus Quirrel was never possessed by the Dark Lord. He was a very sick man," explained the Minister as if to a small child, reaching for her hand again. Harry pulled away. 

"That's not true," she denied. "My scar; it hurt around Quirrel and it hurt in the Graveyard! Dumbledore said that it was like a warning system, that it hurt whenever he was near me!"

"Dumbledore," Fudge said, his face growing alarmingly red, "Dumbledore cannot always be trusted, young lady."

Harry stared. 

" _What?_ "

"Minister Fudge," McGonagall said stiffly, "is of the opinion that the Headmaster is "jumping at shadows" and "inventing trouble" because he hypothesized You-Know-Who was behind the attack on the TriWizard Tournament."

"But Minister, that's madness! If you can't trust Dumbledore, then who can you trust?" Harry protested, trying to get him to see sense. 

He just shook his head. "I don't want to hear any more of this. Continue, Miss Potter."

"But Dumbledore--"

"I said I don't want to hear it!"

"Yeah, well you've got to!" she retorted. 

"I haven't 'got' do anything; I am the Minister for Magic and I-"

"Well right now you're only acting like the Minister for Idiots!" Harry roared, too frustrated to even think that saying such things might be a bad idea. 

"How DARE you!" Fudge shrieked. "You disrespectful brat!"

Harry tried to shoot to her feet but collapsed, forgetting they were still all cut up. McGonagall stood for her, nostrils flaring and lips pinched together.

"Minister Fudge, this is a fourteen year old child who has just gone through an extremely traumatic experience! You _will_ mind your tongue!"

Fudge shrunk into himself, looking back over at Harry. His eyes lingered on the bruises around her wrists, the chain still coiled around her neck. He buried his face in his hands.

"Forgive me, Miss Potter," he said quietly. "I understand the stress you are under. I spoke unjustly. Perhaps it would be better if we continued this interview at another time." 

McGonagall started to say something, but Harry nodded her assent. She was exhausted, and Fudge's guilty face was enough to rob her of her anger. 

"I...yeah. And I'm sorry too, Minister. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that."

"Maybe not," he agreed with a small, pained smile. "But it is perfectly understandable that you did. Your apology is unnecessary, but I shall accept it anyway."

"Thanks," Harry said awkwardly, caught off guard by the flowery words. "Um, I accept your apology too."

"Thank you, Miss Potter."

At that moment there was a knock on the door. The frumpy pink lady from before stepped inside, followed by a witch who looked _exactly_ like Stella. Harry gaped, and the Healer swept over, wand flying in complicated patterns. Whatever it was the spells told her, the witch blanched.

"This child needs to be hospitalized immediately!" she barked. "She is in no shape to be giving interviews! All of you move, now!"

And then she conjured a stretcher, which was complete overkill.

"I'm fine!" Harry protested as the Healer physically picked her up and deposited her on it, as if she were four and not fourteen.

"You are most certainly not," she hissed. "I said MOVE!"

She slashed her wand through the air, moving aside the photographer, who was taking Harry's picture yet again and blocking the doorway. The stretcher flew towards a massive Floo, the Healer literally running alongside. 

"St Mungo's Magical Trauma Ward!"

Harry felt a prickle of fear for the first time. Maybe something really was wrong. They emerged into a long hallway full of fireplaces, and the Healer kept on running. 

She was talking to nobody, just like the Minister had earlier, snapping out orders and medical terms faster than than Harry could understand them. A few seconds later, a whole _team_ of Healers came charging down the corridor, just like in the dramas Petunia liked to watch on the telly. 

Harry tried to sit up, but one of the Healers used a spell to stick her dress to the stretcher.

"Hey!"

"Miss Potter, you must be still," another Healer urged. They arrived at what was probably an operating room, covered in pulsing runes from top to bottom. 

"How is she still awake?" someone said. 

"Doesn't matter! Just put her out; we need to cleanse her core now!"

A wand waved over her head, and Harry knew no more. She was getting sick and tired of being knocked out.

...

"A mission, Lucius."

"My Lord?"

"Deliver this letter to the Minister."

"Yes, my Lord."

"And plant these ward stones, one on each level. It is long past time we have brought the Ministry to heel, hm? Do have fun with it."

"It will be my genuine pleasure."

...

"Ah, Lucius! Do come in. It's always good to see a true friend in turbulent times such as these."

"Indeed, Minister. I cannot linger today, I am afraid, but I have brought you correspondence entrusted to me by a very powerful man. I highly encourage you to read it posthaste."

"I...yes, very well Lucius. Good day."

"Good day."

...

Fudge took turned Lucius' letter over in his hands. It was a shame the man couldn't stop and chat. At least his gift made up for that.

He cracked the seal, and gasped as the spinning sensation of a Portkey took effect. He stumbled upon arrival.

"Greetings, Minister. Tea?"

Fudge whipped around, scrambling for his wand. The young man seated at the table raised his hands peacefully. 

"Boy, do you have any idea what you've done? Abducting the Minister is no joke!"

The boy--really, he couldn't have been over twenty--inclined his head. A soft, apologetic smile lit his warm brown eyes.

"I apologize, Minister, for my rudeness. I needed to speak with you, and I'm afraid the official chanels wouldn't have lended credence to my concerns."

"Boy," the Minister said warningly, "if this is about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named..."

A hint of a smile, satisfied for a flash before it turned soft again.

"Oh but it is, Minister. A matter more important to me than you could possibly know." 

Fudge sighed. "Young man, I know you're afraid. Many people lost loved ones in the war against _him_. But you have to understand that the rumors Dumbledore and the Harriet Potter are spreading are just that. Rumors with no basis in fact. The poor child is addled in the brains by Dark Magic, and Dumbledore is only taking advantage of her delusions to further his own agenda."

"I understand you feel that way, but it's not quite what I wanted to speak with you about. Please Minister, won't you join me for tea?"

Fudge hesitated, but in the end, what harm could it do? It had been a long day, and the boy was very polite, if tragically misguided. He couldn't be all had if he was associated with Lucius. He took a seat.

"Oh, very well. What is your name, child?"

The boy dimpled at him, and slowly, those brown eyes bled scarlet. 

"Why Minister, I thought you'd never ask! Most people call me Lord Voldemort."

Fudge tried to leap up from his chair, but found himself stuck fast. The lunatic child kept on smiling, his bloody, fiery eyes glowing even in the well-lit room. 

"Boy, release me at once! I will not entertain your delusions! You-Know-Who is dead!"

"For a while, yes, I was. But my dear Cornelius, did you really think the greatest Dark Lord to walk the earth wouldn't have left himself a way back?"

"RELEASE ME! I'll have you thrown in Azkaban for this, mark my words!" Fudge brandished his wand at him.

The boy had the audacity to sigh, as if Fudge were the unstable child in this scenario. 

"Consider them marked." He rose gracefully from his chair, taller than expected, and crossed around to Fudge. "I expected this reaction, but really. A tantrum is below the dignity of your station."

And then the boy casually reached out and plucked the wand from his hand, as easily as picking a blade of fluttergrass. He levitated a teacup over. 

"And now you will drink." 

Fudge clamped his mouth shut and glowered. The child snickered, as if this were all an amusing game. A long, bone-white wand found itself digging into the flesh beneath his chin.

"You will drink," the boy repeated calmly. With a jab of that wand, his mouth was pried open wide, tongue flattened when he tried to close his throat off. 

The boy manually lifted the tea cup to his lips and tilted the contents into his mouth. It was swallow it or drown, at that point. He swallowed the tea.

Almost instantly, a daze of fog drifted over his mind. Fudge relaxed into the soft chair, blinking fuzzily at the boy. 

"Hello there," he said.

"Greetings again, Minister. Would you mind terribly answering a few questions of mine?"

"Of course not, my dear boy!" Fudge giggled.

"Very good, Minister, thank you. Now. Do you know where Harriet Potter lives?"

"Oh, yes, of course!"

"And are you capable of revealing this location?"

"Afraid not." 

A low curse. A pale hand grabbed Fudge's hair tightly, tilting his head back until he met a red gaze. 

"Who are her watchers?" 

"Some old squib."

"Where does the squib live?"

"Can't say."

"I don't suppose you have the names of her guardians?"

"Vernon and Pet-something Dursley." 

A low laugh. "Excellent Minister, you have been most helpful. Obliviate. Imperio."

Fudge blinked at the polite young Dark Lord across from him. He'd quite lost track of the conversation, but it awfully generous of him to invite him for tea.

"Are you well, Cornelius?"

"Hm? Oh, yes! I'm sorry my lord, but it is getting late and I must be going. Appointment with the press, you understand."

"But of course. I look forward to seeing you next Saturday."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world!" Fudge replied, absently taking his proferred wand. "Thank you. I am always misplacing the old thing! Farewell, my Lord."

"Farewell, Cornelius."

He took a hold of the Portkey and landed comfortably behind his desk just moments before Dolores knocked on the door.

"Minister? Ms Skeeter is here to see you."

"Send her in," Fudge cried jovially. He slid the letter into his desk. He was already wishing it was next Saturday. He couldn't wait to speak with the Dark Lord again.

...

Voices, fluttering at the edge of her hearing. Harry floated in warm, comfortable darkness. Fireflies surrounded her, winking playfully. The closest ones were all blue.

"Will she ever wake?" 

"It's hard to say. Miss Potter has gone through an incredible ordeal, one that has left scars on her very soul."

"But--but what does that _mean_?"

"It means your friend is a very strong young witch, but if she wakes, she may never be the same again."

The fireflies buzzed in distress. Discomfited by the fierce emotions, Harry reached out further. She touched darkness blacker and thicker than the rest, cool and familiar. 

Harry followed it, a lovely little tunnel made of shadow until she reached the other side. It was still dark, but no longer cold. It was a bonfire, a roaring mass of energy and heat and power barely contained by a thin band of cool darkness. 

Just as she reached towards the dark fire, a whip of ink and shadow wrapped around her, squeezing. Harry shoved back with all her might and the tendrils relaxed.

_Harriet?_

Hello.

_Aren't you supposed to be in a coma right now?_

I am. But the fireflies are sad, so I came here instead.

_...I see. You need to go back now, dearest._

What if I don't want to?

_Then you must do it anyway, if you ever want to wake up again._

But it's nice here. Safe. Awake is all loud and angry idiots yelling about idiot stuff.

_I empathize with you immensely, but unfortunately for you, most of my plans revolve around you being alive and in your own body._

Noooo~!

_**Yes**. Go back. Open your eyes. Go!_

Harry growled, her eyes flying open as she shot upwards.

"Fine! I'm up, you prat!" Then she looked around the hospital room. Over half a dozen teary-eyed red heads plus a Hermione gawked at her.

"Merlin, who died?" Harry blurted out, alarmed. To her surprise, they all burst into laugher, various degrees of hysterical. 

"You did mate," Ron choked out, half laugh and half sob.

Wordlessly, Harry opened her arms and he stumbled into them. Hermione was there in a moment, clutching them both. Then Ginny, a bright heat against her side. Fred and George, squishing her gently between them, Percy giving a careful but shockingly warm hug, Mr Weasley with his strong arm and his wife's unrelenting feeling of home. 

For the life of her, Harry could not remember why she hadn't wanted this even for a moment.


	3. waves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings at the bottom.

**Girl Who Lived Does It Again!**

**By Rita Skeeter**

_As we all well know, our national icon, Harriet Potter was kidnapped and tortured by rouge Dark Wizards in support of another imitation You-Know-Who. This correspondent had the privilege of speaking with Miss Potter directly, along with deeply concerned Minister Fudge and battleaxe Minerva McGonagall. While the results of this interview are, of course, public knowledge, there is something the Ministry is not telling us._

_You see, moments after the Minister's unseemly loss of control, frightening poor Miss Potter into a collapse, Healer Andromeda Tonks of St Mungos Hospital arrived. Her reaction will shock you; the Healer rushed to Miss Potter's side, lifting her weak, limp form onto a stretcher, before proceeding to blast her way out of the room._

_What was it that had the Healer so alarmed? What happened to our Girl-Who-Lived? I'll tell you: she died! That's right, dear readers! In that foul ritual Miss Potter was forced to take place in [see page six for more details], it seems that the residual energy from the fateful rebounded Killing Curse was released, with the effect of loosening her very soul from her mortal form!_

_Healer Rivera from MACUSA, one of the twelve international Healers consulted for the Potter Case, said this: "...it's not like anything we, or anyone else, have seen before. Her readings [Healing term for diagnostic spell results] came out halfway between that of a victim of a Dementor's Kiss and someone dead of the Killing Curse. And then she woke up. Miss Potter...is truly a miracle."_

_On the thirtieth of June at 7:02 in the morning, Harriet Potter fell into a coma. Just day and a half after her daring escape, and already fighting for her life once more. Several hours later, after countless darkness-cleansing rituals and other treatments, the Girl-Who-Lived...died._

_"It was like nothing I've encountered. One moment her soul was loosely attatched to her body, far too loose to be healthy but secure enough to provide hope...and the next it was gone! Her body was alive, for the moment, but it was as if her essence had decided to go for a stroll. Five minutes later she was back, awake as if nothing had happened!"_

_But how can this be? Is Harriet Potter immune to death, or perhaps merely the Killing Curse? Does this means she is immortal? Unkillable? How did she come by this power? Is it a result of the rebounded Curse...or something Darker altogether?_

_These are the questions facing us, dear readers. Nobody knows the answers to them, but this correspondent will do her best to find out_.

Harry put the newspaper down as if it were something fragile that would shatter if she handled it too roughly. She looked up. Hermione and Ron stared back at her nervously, as if waiting for her to explode. 

"I expected worse," she said conversationally, doing her level best to ignore the anger crawling up her throat. "I mean, she only implied I was dabbling in Dark Magic once."

"I suppose the lure of painting you as a damsel in distress was too much. It's hard for someone to be the victim and the villain," Ron said, looking relieved.

"I'm not a victim," Harry said...okay, snapped. Ron raised his hands apologetically.

"Right, of course not. I'm just, er, playing devil's advocate."

"Sorry." She sighed, running a hand through her tangled curls. 

"Don't apologize, Harry," Hermione said, leaning forward and taking her hand. "You're really handling this remarkably well."

"Guess I've got practice," she snorted. "Mostly I think I'm just tired."

"That's understandable," Hermione assured her, then got up as someone knocked on the door. 

It was Mrs Weasley, sporting a large smile and a massive platter. Harry brightened. Hospital food was _awful_. 

"I've got good news and great news," she announced, setting the platter down on the bedside table. "Which would you like first?"

"The good news!" Harry said eagerly. 

"The good news...is that Healer Whitesun cleared Snuffles to visit you!" She turned expectantly towards the open door. Nothing happened.

Mrs Weasley sighed. "That was your cue, Sir-Snuffles."

With an almighty _woof_ , Sirius came charging inside, paws slipping on the slick tile. He jumped right up on the bed and began licking her face.

Harry laughed in delight.

"Snuffles! You look amazing! Mrs Weasley forced you to get a haircut, didn't she?"

Sirius sent her a reprochful look, but his tail was still wagging aggressively. She laughed again, throwing her arms around him. 

They spent what was probably several minutes like that, his head tucked over her shoulder. Harry clung to the one adult who she felt was truly safe and who actually understood her. Probably because he was still a kid in spirit.

"So..." Harry began nervously. "I can still come stay with you this summer, right? You told--er, I mean, Mrs Weasley wrote that you have someplace to stay now!"

Sirius barked once, an affirmative. Harry could have squealed with joy. Then Mrs Weasley interjected softly.

"Of course you can stay with Snuffles and the rest, but Professor Dumbledore said that you must spend at least two weeks with you family first--"

"What?" Harry, Ron and Hermione all exclaimed in varying degrees of synchronicity.

"But Mrs Weasley, they're awful, really--"

"I don't _want_ to go back; can't I just stay--"

"Mum you can't, not after everything--"

Sirius barked loudly, placing himself between Mrs Weasley and Harry. She wrapped her arms around his middle as she pleaded.

"Children! That is enough!" Mrs Weasley cried. "Goodness, what has gotten into all of you? I know the Dursley family might be a bit...unpleasant, perhaps, but Harry they're you family! Why, they must be worried sick after they got the news you were missing!"

"Ha, right," Harry scoffed. "More likely they celebrated." 

Mrs Weasley sat on the edge of her bed. Sirius snorted huffily, but calmed when Harry patted him. Mrs Weasley smoothed a hand over Harry's unruly curls. 

"Oh Harry. I understand how you feel" not ruddy likely "but family is family. I had rough patches with my own parents, just like you have with your Aunt and Uncle."

Both Harry and Sirius growled when she compared the _Dursleys_ to Lily and James Potter, but Mrs Weasley continued undaunted.

"I know it's hard sometimes, but always remember that they love you even when they don't act like it" such as when they were locking her in cupboards and starving her for days and putting bars on her window "and that we do too. We'll always be here for you. Okay, dear?"

Harry pulled out her best tremulous smile, making her eyes big and thankful.

"Okay," she whispered. "Thank you, Mrs Weasley."

Behind Mrs Weasley, Hermione had a half-sad, half-pinched look and Ron shook his head. They knew her well enough to tell when she was lying by now. Most of the time, at least. 

Mrs Weasley, though, had no such insider knowledge. She melted a little, pulling Harry into a firm hug that wasn't quite as comforting as it normally was. Harry leaned her head on her shoulder, but couldn't bring herself to hug back. 

"Well," Mrs Weasley said, smiling around at them. "I'll let you four have some privacy, alright? Enjoy lunch."

As soon as she shut the door behind her, Hermione hurried to close the curtains over the windows and Sirius jumped down and transformed in one smooth movement.

"Oh pup," he croaked, folding her into his arms. "I'm so sorry. So sorry."

Harry hugged him back with all her strength. Tears prickled at the back of her eyes but Harry didn't cry. She thought she might even have wanted to, but it never came. When Sirius pulled back he was the one with wet cheeks. 

"So strong," he said fondly. "Just like your mum. The day you were born is the only time I ever saw Lily cry."

"Really?"

"Absolutely, pup. Your da on the other hand, he cried every time something tugged at his heartstrings. Bawled like a baby at every sad film Lily showed us..."

Sirius trailed off, as he always did when he talked about her parents. He could only manage a few tidbits before the memories started to go dark.

Harry took his hand hesitantly. Sirius shook his head and squeezed her hand three times.

"That means 'I love you,'" he said, as if Harry didn't know, wasn't forced to watch in bitter jealousy as Petunia did the same with Dudley every night without fail. He hadn't done it back since he was nine. Harry tried once, and that was the first time Petunia slapped her, and the moment Harry stopped calling her 'Aunt'.

Trembling, Harry squeezed back. One, two three. Sirius beamed at her, crooked and radiant and a little sad, and Harry grinned back helplessly.

The mood was broken by Hermione hiccuping loudly. She clapped her hands over her mouth in horror.

"I'm so sorry," she squeaked, eyes suspiciously bright herself. "It's just--it's just so _sweet_."

Harry and Sirius looked at each other, lips twitching, and promptly burst into laughter. Ron laughed too, nudging Hermione playfully in the ribs. Her light brown skin went dark red as she swatted him on the shoulder. 

"Oh shut up!" she said huffily, but any fool could see the way her dimple was trying to pop out.

Harry relaxed back into her pillows, still holding Sirius' hand. The room devolved into playful bickering around her. A surge of pure adoration swept through Harry, almost painful in its intensity. It brushed away her fear and anger and hate like cobwebs, anchoring her firmly in the here and now. In that moment Harry felt she could take on anything the world could throw at her, even homicidal, out-of-character Dark Lords.

...

Voldemort paused in the middle of torturing Severus Snape. He held utterly still as the connection with his horcrux cracked open, buffeting him with foreign emotion. It hurt like Phoenix Song to his shriveled heart and Voldemort had to close his eyes for a moment.

He slammed down on his Occlumency with a tight grip, and still Potter leaked joy and contentment and _love_ through the bond. Voldemort wondered if he ought to be offended or impressed that the slip of a girl coud feel such insipid emotions even when she believed the Dark Lord Voldemort was after her head. 

Severus made a pathetic sort of choking sound. Voldemort opened his eyes to see Nagini swaying over him, distracting the traitor from his moment of 'weakness'. 

_"Thank you Nagini, that's enough."_

_"Do not let your mind wander too far, snakelet. A rat may best a serpent sunning in its sleep."_

_"I will be careful,"_ he promised, amused.

_"You'd better. It would be too much trouble to train another Speaker."_

Another Speaker...Harriet. Her mother, the mudblood. Severus had begged him to spare her life. Voldemort felt a smile beginning to form. Love was, in the end, the biggest weakness of them all. 

"Up, vermin," he commanded, jerking his turncoat servant to his feet by the hair. Severus almost fell again, his right leg at an unnatural angle. Voldemort dragged him along to his office anyway, relishing his short, sharp gasps of agony. As they passed, Death Eaters bowed lowly to their Lord, ignoring the traitor altogether.

"Sit." He threw Severus into the study. The man barely caught himself on the edge of a chair. Voldemort summoned his Pensieve and thought back to a night long ago, a day he remembered in more clarity than any other. The night Lily Potter died and Harriet became his; the night Lord Voldemort was temporarily destroyed. 

"Watch," Voldemort whispered. When Severus hesitated, he grabbed the back of his neck and slammed his face into the Pensieve. 

It was several minutes before Severus resurfaced, sobs shaking his body for the first time. He fell to the floor. Voldemort struck, crouching before him and seizing his face. Their eyes met and Voldemort dove into Severus' mind, sliding past frayed Occlumency barriers and cracked shields.

Even in such a broken state Severus put up a good fight, but Voldemort was already inside. Whenever those defences started to regroup, he reached for the string of emotions connected to Lily Potter and pulled. Fresh pain flooded the traitor's mind, always as sharp as new. 

It didn't take long for Voldemort to get what he needed--relatively speaking. A good twelve hours had passed since he first brought out the Pensieve. Luckily he had set aside the entire day to torment and eventually kill Severus. 

Not that this was the plan anymore. Voldemort laughed. Turning traitor on a horcrux's behalf. Severus really knew how to pick them.

"Well my friend," Voldemort said as he stroked Severus' sweat-soaked hair. "I've decided not to kill you."

No answer.

"Come now Severus, that's hardly the appropriate response. What do we say, hm?" He punctuated his words by squeezing the man's broken leg. His choked scream was music to the ears. 

"Go--to--ahh!" Voldemort squeezed harder, twisting, and clicked his tongue when the stubborn thing passed out.

"Rennervate. Now, as fun as this has been, I'm running out of patience. It is not in my nature to be blunt, but for you, my dear, I'll make an exception."

He paused, amused by the way Severus bared his teeth. Three of them were missing. 

"Your Unbreakable Vow to protect Harriet Potter. This pleases me." Shock. Pure, unadulterated shock, followed by absolute conviction that this was a ploy of some kind. "No tricks, Severus. I no longer desire the girl dead; she is of far more use to me alive."

"You're lying--"

"I give my word." The traitor fell silent. Even his enemies acknowledged, however grudgingly, that Lord Voldemort kept his word. It was a matter of magic; a solemn vow had true power in it and Voldemort would not violate that so easily. The sanctity of magic was perhaps the one boundary he truly respected, though no doubt the old fool would disagree.

"How...why?"

"Why, _my Lord_ ," he corrected. 

"You aren't--"

"Am I not?" Voldemort said archly. "I seem to remember of young boy of nearly unparalleled eagerness to join me, a thirst for the Dark Arts and the right to practice them freely. I have seen your mind, my dear. It was neither moral compunction nor change of heart that guided your actions. No. You turned traitor for the love of a woman."

Voldemort began the slow process of healing the most life threatening injuries. 

"You have seen the memories. I honored your request. Potter chose her fate; she would not leave her child to die. A child you were perfectly willing to sacrifice for your precious Lily." And oh how that infuriated him now, though at the time it seemed delightful ruthlessness. 

"So yes, Severus. I rather think I am your Lord. You vowed your loyalty to me and your life to Harriet Potter. I, in turn, am prepared to vow not to seek her life."

"Wh-- _what_?" His voice cracked.

Voldemort smirked. That was the sound of worldviews crumbling and unshakeable beliefs turned to dust.

"Cissy shall be our Binder." He tugged gently at the thread tying him to Narcissa's newly acquired Dark Mark. She stepped into the room with grace. Her silver eyes radiated frosty disapproval when they landed on the traitor.

"Thank you dear," he said absently. Narcissa curtsied low. 

Voldemort clasped Severus' forearm, the one that bore the Mark, lips twitching when he let out a pained gasp. 

"Do you, the Dark Lord Voldemort, swear to preserve the life of Harriet Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived, to the best of your abilities?" Cissy asked, her voice not even flinching over his name. Brave girl.

"I do," he said. Golden threads wrapped around their arms.

"And do you, Severus Snape, swear to renounce your ties with Albus Dumbledore, the Ministry of Magic, and the Order of the Phoenix?"

"I..." Voldemort nearly found himself holding his breath. This was it, the moment he learned whether he had a spy to use or a traitor to destroy.

"I do."

"And do you swear to dedicate your loyalties solely to the cause of the Dark Lord Voldemort, for as long as you live?"

"I do."

"And do you swear not to reveal the events, decisions and revelations that have occurred within this room?"

"I do."

Voldemort released Severus, who dropped to the ground from the strain on his magic. 

"Take him to the Healer," he ordered Narcissa. "Tell her I need him operational by nightfall."

"Yes milord."

"When you are done, join us in the Meeting Hall. There are plans to go over."

"Very well, my Lord."

Voldemort stepped over Severus and headed towards his throne room. He was very much looking forward to this gathering. 

He took a seat on the large silver wrought chair with its emerald cushions and snake etchings. It had been a gift long ago from one of the dwarf clans, equipped with all sorts of useful acoustic charms and protective enchantments.

His Knights filed into the room, kneeling and kissing his robes in the ancient tradition. They slowly filled the banquet table he decided to use instead of making them kneel the whole time, as he had in the old days. 

"Greetings, my friends," he said. "Today is the day we discuss our plans for our world. We haven't much time, so I will do you the honor of being forthright. We must proceed with cunning in our quesr, putting aside frontal attacks for a more subtle approach. The simple truth is that our people cannot withstand another war.

"Oh, we would win, there's no doubt about that. But at what cost? Two wars in less than a century have had a devestating effect on the population. During Grindewald's War, only two percent of Wizarding people's died. But birth rates dropped eighty percent. During the last forty years, the numbers dropped by another thirty. Even now they have not recovered by more than ten percent.

"The ugly truth of it is that if we wage another war, we may well succeed in wiping the Pureblood population from off the face of the planet."

Gasps and muttering. Voldemort allowed them to run their course before raising his hand. The Knights silenced instantly. 

"I hear many of you asking how this would come to pass. Quite easily, I tell you. With the available pool of marriage partners shrunk, we shall soon be forced into joining with second cousins, then first, until there is no one sufficiently unrelated to marry. We will then be forced to either merge into muggle-tainted families or allow entire lines to die out. This, I can assure you, is not an option."

"What shall we do then, my Lord?" Nott Senior asked. He tolerated the question, coming as it was from one of his first Knights and oldest friends.

"Why Tiberius, I am quite glad you asked. The short answer is: breed like mad."

Voldemort smiled, inviting his followers to join in on the joke. His original Knights were already laughing.

"The long answer, on the other hand, is a messy combination of politics, guerilla warfare, social assassinations, and a few new laws...The first order of business, you will be pleased to hear, is claiming my Lordship."

The Death Eaters roared with applause as one, jumping to their feet. Voldemort allowed another smile, fierce pride and triumph welling up in his chest. Distantly he felt Harriet's confusion and fear over what could have a Dark Lord so happy. 

She was right to be afraid. 

"That brings me to the second change going forward. The sole requirement which I lacked to claim the Slytherin Lordship was a very special woman...a female Parselmouth, to be exact. And who should I discover posses the gift but our _dear_ Harriet Potter."

More whispering, but this time he cut them off.

"No harm shall come to her. The girl is _mine_ to do with as I please. She is not to be touched in any way, or I shall make the trespasser and their entire family wish they were never born. Am I understood?"

"Yes, milord."

"Yes Master."

"Yes, your Lordship."

Voldemort nodded curtly.

"Good. We will rise victorious, my Knights. It is as the Fates themselves will. Before you are dismissed, I have _homework_ for you. Those of you unmarried will find a spouse, marry, and produce heirs as soon as possible. If you have children approaching marrying age, encourage them to look for a partner as well. Take matters into your own hands if you must, but not another of our children shall graduate Hogwarts without a betrothed."

He stood and his Knights copied him, again bowing low and kissing the hem of his robes. He never did get tired of that. When the last Death Eater filed out of the throne room, Voldemort allowed himself to groan and stretch.

He apparated straight to his bedchamber. He hadn't slept in over forty-eight hours, and if all went well, he would be facing Dumbledore this time tomorrow.

... 

Harry looked up from her book as someone knocked on the door. She tensed, wishing for her wand. 

"Greetings Harry, my girl."

She sprung out of bed. Dumbledore! Finally! She yanked the door open and faltered. He looked terrible. 

"Are you well, Professor?"

He smiled tiredly, blue eyes unusually dull behind his glasses. 

"As well as can be expected, my dear. May I enter?"

"Oh! Yes, of course sir." She stepped aside. Dumbledore swept in and took a seat in one of the hospital chairs. Harry sat on her bed, watching as he cast several spells that didn't seem to do anything.

"I regret my abruptness, Harry, but time is of the essence. Please, tell me of what truly happened between you and Voldemort last week."

An odd, foreboding shiver went down her spine when he said the name. For the first time, she understood why people didn't like to hear it. 

"Yes sir." And she did, recounting everything in as much detail as she could. Dumbledore was particularly interested in the ritual at the graveyard. Harry was positive she saw a glint of triumph, the hint of a smile, when she described how Voldemort had taken her blood.

Harry swallowed and kept going, trying not to let him know she'd seen it. It was probably just a trick of the light anyway. Why should Dumbledore be happy about something like that?

When she got to the part where she entered the tea room, Harry stopped abruptly. It was like her tongue curled up on itself. She could have screamed. She'd completely forgotten about the promise she made! A promise to Voldemort. She was such a _coward_. 

"Harry?" Dumbledore prompted. 

"I--I can't say." Her mouth tasted like ash. He drew in a sharp breath, worry crossing his face, and. And something darker. It looked almost like fear.

"I didn't ally with him!" she promised desperately. "I would never!"

"No, of course not Harry! I never would have thought that."

"Oh. Right." Harry bit her lip. The bit about her scar was important, she knew it. But how...? An idea struck. 

"I can't tell you what actually happened," she said carefully. "But I can tell you what I _think_ happened."

Dumbledore's eyes regained a little of their old twinkle.

"Very good Miss Potter. What is your hypothesis?"

"You remember how you told me that Voldemort gave me some of his powers, that night? And that was why my scar hurt around him, or whenever he was angry and excited or something? Well, it doesn't hurt anymore. Not at all. He did--"

Her tongue shriveled again.

"Nevermind. But Professor, I think maybe he took back that bit of magic. Do...is it possible?"

Dumbledore was frozen, and this time Harry knew she wasn't imagining the emotions that flickered across his face. He wasn't happy for her. His face creased in despair, then anger, then blanked out completely. 

"Yes, Harry. I do believe that is quite possible indeed. It would also explain the...rather fragile state of your own soul. By digging out his magic, he uprooted your very essence. I am so sorry, my dear, that you suffered such an ordeal."

"It's fine sir," Harry said quietly, when she really felt like screaming. Dumbledore...She had trusted him. Did she still? Harry didn't know, and that scared her. She couldn't think of any benign explanation for his reactions, but something in her recoiled at the thought of Dumbledore wishing her harm. It didn't make any sense!

"So brave," Dumbledore sighed. "Please, my dear, continue your account."

She did, mind far away as words poured from her mouth. Dumbledore, too, seemed distracted. He didn't react at all to the rest of the story, and got up once she was done. 

"Thank you Harry, for making time for an old man. I shall leave you to your rest now. Farewell."

"Bye."

He shut the door behind him and Harry collapsed back on the bed, covering her face. She wanted to go away, be somewhere else, far away from horrible thoughts and dark realities. 

Too late, Harry remembered what Healer Whitesun said about keeping focused in the present. She felt a vague sensation of being adrift, and tried to anchor herself. It...sort of worked. Her vision went to the black emptiness that had become so familiar the last few days, but she could still feel the softness of the bed, the covers under her fingertips, the fluffiness of the pillow. 

"Harriet?"

Suddenly she was standing in a warm, fire lit chamber. The room was dominated by a huge four-postered bed with sweeping emerald hangings. A man was sitting up, rubbing his eyes, his face hidden in shadow.

"Do I know you?"

A long pause. "You are perhaps the most famous witch on the planet, Miss Potter."

"Oh. Right." Harry shifted where she stood. Why had her wandering soul brought her to a random man's bedroom? 

"Why are you here?" he asked, as if reading her mind.

"Uh...dunno, truthfully. Sorry." And why on earth wasn't she panicking? That seemed a reasonable thing to do, and yet she felt perfectly calm.

"It's fine," the man said. They stared at each other for a moment. 

"Right, well, I should probably get going. Leave you to your sleep and all."

"Harriet...I _am_ asleep. This is a dream."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh." He seemed amused. "But you are correct. I do need to rest."

"Okay. Sorry about this, by the way." He waved a hand.

"Don't worry about it." They stared at each other again. Well, Harry stared at where she thought his face was, and assumed he was staring back. 

"You don't know how to leave, do you?"

"...No," she admitted, feeling a flush crawl up her neck. 

"Alright, close your eyes. Now focus on where you last were, physically speaking. What are you touching? Is it cold, hot? Dry or humid? What does it smell like? What could you see, if you were to look around?"

Harry concentrated. Slowly, the hospital room began to emerge, superimposed over the bedchamber. 

"Thank you," she said as the man started to fade away. She opened her eyes and saw white ceiling, wondering if she was just imagining the whispered 'anytime' that echoed in her mind.

...

Severus Snape, if he were in the habit of such things, would have ranked this day third of the worst days in his life. The first was when Lily died, the second when he called her a Mudblood. And, he reflected, it was about to get worse. 

Severus stumbled as he emerged from the Floo, his previously shattered leg still weak. Minerva caught him bodily, easing him into a nearby chair. 

"Severus!" she cried. "Molly quick, fetch Poppy and send for Albus!" 

He closed his eyes. Her concern burned at him when the evidence of his betrayal still burned around his forearm. Minerva was perhaps the only one of Dumbledore's flunkies he could truly claim to care for, and here he sat. A true traitor, basking in the warmth of her regard. 

With an effort he pushed her away.

"Do not touch me." 

He pretended not to see the hurt in her eyes. It was easier this way, for both of them, if he made it a clean break. Better now than when his true loyalties came to light. 

"Severus, my boy." Dumbledore almost rushed into the room. "Minerva please, leave us."

"He needs medical attention!"

"I require no such thing. Leave."

"Severus Tobias Snape--"

"Minerva," Dumbledore said firmly. She went, throwing a look over her shoulder that assured Severus that the conversation was by no means over. 

"What news?" Dumbledore pressed. No attempts to make it even look like he cared about his spy. Something must have rattled him badly.

"The Dark Lord," he said heavily, "wishes to negotiate. Tomorrow, at the Hog's Head."

Dumbledore's gaze might have made a lesser man tremble. But Severus had the honor of gracing the Dark Lord's torture chambers. He doubted he would ever quail at anything of Dumbledore's ever again. 

"It's a ploy," Dumbledore said. Severus shook his head.

"Perhaps. But I do not believe so. I am told the Dark Lord spoke at length of the dire state of the magical population. He does not believe our world can withstand another war. Instead, it is my opinion that he aims to go the slightly less bloody political route." 

It had something to do with Potter, that he was sure of. But what? 

"This is most troubling."

It would be highly out of character for him not to respond with something scathing, so Severus said:

"The Dark Lord announces that he no longer wishes to wage bloody war wherein countless innocents will die, and you find yourself troubled?"

"We are vastly outnumbered in the political arena, Severus. Were Voldemort the vicious would-be dictator, the people would rise up against him alongside us. But the average wizard cares little for politics that don't affect him. Voldemort could do great damage to muggles and Muggleborns with little opposition."

"So you would prefer our people to die because it makes the Dark Lord easier to defeat?"

Dumbledore sighed and seemed to age before Severus' eyes. "Better to die fighting for freedom than to live ignorant of the chains of corruption."

Sanctimonious old goat. 

"I see. And this is your decision to make? All for the _Greater Good,_ of course."

Dumbledore flinched as if struck. 

"Severus..." he said, pained, but Severus was already struggling to his feet. 

"If you'll excuse me, I have extensive nerve damage and lingering fractures that need taking care of. The Dark Lord's Healer has a rather broad interpretation of the term 'operational'."

He swept off as gracefully as his limp would allow, leaving Dumbledore solemn and grave as his plans fell apart around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Nongraphic torture, funky morals, discussion of Death of children


	4. buildup

It was a dark and stormy night, which Sirius thought fit most appropriately with his mood. He sat by the front window of his childhood prison, nursing a firewhiskey as he glared sightlessly at the road. 

Thoughts swirled around in his head despite the alcohol and Sirius cursed bitterly. The whole point of getting drunk was so that you didn't have to think. To think about all the ways he'd failed his friends, failed his goddaughter, failed his cause.

Sirius knocked back another swallow, and in the process almost missed the crack of apparition that could have been thunder. He shot to his feet, not quite drunk enough to be unsteady. He squinted out the grimy window.

A cloaked figure had collapsed just meters beyond the front door. Sirius hesitated. He should probably get back up...but the only other one there was Snape, who he would sooner hex than talk to. No. He could handle this on his own.

Sirius drew his wand, the familiar excitement of danger sparking in his gut. He crept out the door, silently approaching the still figure.

He stunned them, just to be sure they weren't faking. Sirius turned the person over and all the breath left his lungs. 

" _Reggie?_ " 

...

If there was one thing that could lift Harry's black mood, it was seeing her oldest friend duck through the hospital room door.

"Ah, Harry! Greetings!" 

"Hagrid! What are you doing here? Not that it isn't great to see you," she added hastily. Harry tried to look more alert when his dark eyes lingered on her in concern. She hadn't slept well. Who would, when their mortal enemy spent the whole night radiating delight and triumph? Even with her scar silent, she felt echoes of him, sometimes.

Harry had neglected to inform Dumbledore of this. After all, he hadn't trusted her from the moment they met...wait, what? Dumbledore had never distrusted Harry!

"Why, I'm here to take yeh to Diagon Alley of course! Can't let you go about without a wand in times like these, Harry."

She winced. The loss of her loyal holly wand still ached like the loss of a friend. Replacing it felt wrong, like she was being disloyal. But he was right. Harry couldn't go around defenseless. 

"Okay. Does--I mean, am I going back to the Dursleys after this?" She was discharged at of noon after all, and it was five 'till.

Hagrid sighed, patting her softly on the shoulder. Her knees buckled a little. 

"I'm afraid so." Harry swallowed down the sting of betrayal. 

"Right. Okay, er, then I should probably pack then."

"No need. The elves will take care of it. Dumbledore's already signed you out an' everything, so we're ready to go as soon as yeh get your money."

Harry produced it. 

"Alright then." He led the way, squeezing out of the door, which contorted like rubber to let him through. Harry followed morosely. 

Two figures in red robes fell into step begin them. She startled and eyed them, confused. 

"We are your guards," the dark skinned wizard said with a distinct African accent, deep and soothing. The other one had short pink hair. They were both familiar, though without her glasses she couldn't see their faces. 

"Okay," Harry replied, privately doubtful that anyone trying to hurt her would get past Hagrid. She'd seen both his pink umbrella and part of his enchanted crossbow under that overcoat. 

They took the Floo to the Leaky, and Harry shocked herself by landing easily on her feet, as if she'd done it a thousand times. 

Her delight was crushed by the weight of the whispers that followed her as they left the pub. Somehow it was harder to bear when she couldn't see their faces, not easier.

Harry tugged on Hagrid's sleeve. He bent double to hear her. 

"Can we get new glasses too? While we're here anyway." 

"Sure thing, Harry. Dumbledore scheduled in extra time for us anyway. Lucky, eh?"

"Yeah. Lucky," she repeated. 

All too soon they were at Ollivander's. The African wizard stayed outside to guard the door and the pink haired witch scouted out the shop before they went in.

"Ah, Miss Potter. Eleven inches, Holly and Phoenix Feather. Nymphadora Tonks, maple and dragon heartstring, swishy. And Hagrid of course, oak and fifteen inches, quite bendy. What may I do for you all today?"

"I...I lost my wand," Harry said, the words like ashes in her mouth. Ollivander raised a brow, looking disapproving. 

"Lost or taken, Miss Potter?"

"Taken," she admitted bitterly.

"I am terribly sorry for your loss." It sounded different when he said it, less empty, so Harry made an effort to smile.

"Thanks." 

It took a lot longer than last time, finding a wand that suited her. Harry almost didn't think they would. How could any wand hope to live up to her true match? But eventually they hit on something that felt reasonably welcoming. 

Twelve inches, aspen wood and dragon heartstring, slightly bendy. Ollivander said it was the wand of duelists and revolutionaries, but all Harry could see was the crooked, gleaming white of it. It greatly resembled another wand, one what had pointed at her head not so long ago. 

Even when their wands weren't brothers, the world seemed determined to draw parallels between Harry and Voldemort.

It was with a foul temper that Harry stomped into the occulist's shop, followed by a nervous Hagrid.

"Greetings! How may I--oh! Miss Potter!"

"My glasses were destroyed," Harry said shortly. 

"O-oh, yes, of course. Right this way." The bespectacled young lady led them further into the shop. She gestured to two different racks of frames.

"These are the latest styles I feel will suit your face shape, Miss Potter." Harry reached out and grabbed the least flamboyant pair she could see, right next to a glowing purple set and one that reflected flames that weren't there.

They were squarish and large but sat comfortably on her nose, a simple black that shone silver when touched by the light. Enough to pass muster in the muggle world.

"Would you like any charms to go with that, dear? Anti-summoning, x-ray vision, magnification?"

"Just the anti-summoning," Harry said reluctantly. The others all sounded incredibly useful, but would ban her from playing Quidditch. Not worth it.

"Very well." The witch waved a funny looking, boxy instrument over Harry's eyes. It beeped, and she slid Harry's chosen glasses inside. Another beep and the glasses came out the other side. 

"Here you are! That will be five galleons." That was almost as expensive as a wand! Harry forked over the money and slipped her new glasses on. Her eyes widened.

"Brilliant," she whispered. All her old glasses had been whatever worked best from the charity bin. But this...that snitch would be easier to catch than ever!

But even that revelation wasn't enough to keep her spirits up for too long.

"Ice cream, Harry?" Hagrid suggested softly. Harry nodded, though she wasn't exactly in the mood. Anything to avoid the Dursleys for a few more minutes. 

They squeezed into a corner booth at Fortesque's, the Aurors keeping watch. Harry felt sort of bad for them, forced to stand there glaring at all the witches and wizards who tried to get a closer look at the Famous Harriet Potter. 

"Er, do you guys want some?" she offered, lifting her chocolate cone.

"No, thank you."

"Eh, sorry kid! Not supposed to eat on the job. You enjoy that though, for me. Okay?"

"Okay." Harry cracked a smile. Nymphadora 'For the love of Merlin, call me Tonks' was a right character. Harry licked her ice cream very slowly, stalling for time.

Eventually, when Hagrid had been done with his oversized scoop for over ten minutes, her friend sighed.

"Come on, Harry. Yeh can finish that at home. You'll be late if we don't go now."

Harry quickly devoured the rest of her treat, knowing the Dursleys would never let her have it. She grabbed her purse and squared her shoulders.

"Okay. I'm ready."

The walk through Diagon back to the Leaky was a blur. Every footstep seemed weighted and metallic, clanging dully on the cobblestones. Her chest was tight, more anger than nerves. She wanted to curse something, watch it explode into fragment and dust. Merlin how she hated the Dursleys.

"Well, this is it," Hagrid said, kneeling down to be more on her level. He still towered over her. "Remember, your trunk and belongings have already been delivered to your room. Professor Dumbledore explained everything, and connected their Floo to the Network just for today. Good luck, Harry."

He hugged her, and Harry squeezed back fiercely, nevermind that her arms couldn't reach halfway across his middle. 

"Thanks Hagrid. I'll see you soon, hopefully."

"Farewell," he sniffed, pulling out a floral hanky. 

Harry grabbed a handful of Floo powder and stepped into the flames.

"Dursley residence." 

She spun through the flames, and emerged to shrieking and bellowing from Petunia and Vernon. 

"GIRL! How dare you use such unnaturalness in our home, especially after what happened last time?! Get! Go to your room, now, and don't let me see your face for at least a week! No meals! I said GO!"

Harry went, bolting up the stairs two at a time. True to Hagrid's word, her trunk was laying on her bed. Harry threw herself down next to it, practically boiling with rage.

Who did they think they were?

Harry clenched her eyes shut, trying consciously for the first time to be anywhere else, anywhere at all. 

Dudley's second bedroom dissolved around her. Harry opened her eyes to a handsome muggle study, though the walls were hung with animated maps and living portraits. But most oddly of all, their was a woman sprawled out on the rug by the fire. Her hair was blue-black, done up in a spiky little bun, and her dress looked like it was made of snakeskin. 

"Hello?" Harry asked. Why had she ever though this was a good idea? 

The woman stretched languidly and turned on her side. She was Asian, like Cho, but with sharper features and bright yellow eyes. Greenish scales ringed her eyes like a mask.

"A hatchling? What are you doing in my dream, little one?"

"Um, I'm not really sure. I was at my relatives' and I just wanted to be anywhere else...I'm Harry, by the way." The woman didn't seem human, so maybe she wouldn't know her already.

"Hm. Greetings. I am Nagini and you are welcome to sun yourself with me."

And with that, she closed her eyes and tilted her head back to bask in the flames. Harry just stood there for several moment before Nagini spoke again.

"Hatchling. I do not bite children. Your soul is chilled; come sit with me."

And so, following her instincts that the snake lady really meant what she said, Harry sat crosslegged on the thick rug.

Immediately Nagini pressed freezing bare toes against her leg. Harry yelped, but Nagini seemed puzzled.

"What is wrong, small one?"

"Er..." Maybe her culture, whatever it was, was more touchy than the average British one. Or maybe it was just because Nagini wasn't human. "Nothing."

Nagini wiggled her absurdly delicate toes under Harry's thigh and promptly fell asleep. Harry sat there for a long time, just staring at the fire. She hadn't eaten lunch that long ago, but already she could feel phantom hunger pains intruding on her real body, laid up in Privet Drive. 

She'd been squirrelling away food during her hospital visit but it seemed as though somebody were always watching her eat. Harry hadn't gotten half as much food as she usually did. Still, at least now she had a way of escaping from Dursleyland for a while. 

"You are troubled," Nagini said, startling Harry who thought she was still sleeping.

"Yeah, you could say that," she said a little bitterly. 

"What is the problem? I may be able to bite it for you," Nagini offered. Harry couldn't help but be touched.

"Aww. Thank you, but as tempting as it is, I can't set you on my family."

"You could, if they threaten to eat you. Some snakes devour their young, you know."

Harry choked. "No! They're not trying to eat me, and they're definitely not snakes! They just don't like magic much, is all."

Nagini hissed. "Do they hurt you, little one?"

"No...well, not anymore. They're too scared. But when I was younger..." Images of the cupboard flashed before her eyes, of frying pans aimed at her head and meaty fists slamming into her nose, a massive hand hurling her into her cupboard. 

Nagini moved so swiftly for a second Harry thought she was attacking. But really she just pulled Harry right into her lap as if they weren't almost of a height and that was a perfectly normal thing to do to a stranger.

"Okay, Nagini, you need to let me go. For my, er, people or whatever, we don't do this until we know someone well. Very well. _Nagini_."

Nagini just held her tighter, wrapping slender arms around Harry's torso. She rocked them side to side, utterly unmoved by her struggling, and hummed a silibant tune. 

Eventually Harry stopped wiggling. She still felt horribly awkward, but Nagini didn't mean any harm and possibly didn't know any better. She was just trying to help.

And so cradled in the scaly arms of a woman she didn't know, Harry slowly drifted off to sleep.

...

Voldemort felt the fear and anger ebb from his littlest horcrux, and had to admit it was a relief. He couldn't afford to be distracted during this meeting; too much was at stake. 

He was sat in the Minister's office, waiting for the man in question to arrive. Fudge was late. Voldemort drummed his nails on his armrest, feet propped on on the Minister's desk. 

Fudge burst into the room, red faced. 

"My Lord! I apologize deeply; Dolores cornered me about the new Werewolf legislation, you understand."

"Quite," Voldemort drawled. He flicked his wand and shoved Fudge into a seat, sticking it to his bottom and the chair to the floor. Then he withdrew his imperius curse.

The man turned pasty white, trembling where he sat. He tried to run, and when that failed, pulled out his wand. 

"We've already been through this, luv," Voldemort sighed. "Put the wand down and have some tea. It's not spiked this time, you have my word."

"Y-y-you release me at once!" he squeaked.

"No. Shut up and listen."

Fudge's mouth snapped closed.

"Good boy. Now, here's what's going to happen. I wish to negotiate a truce. Enough magical blood has been spilled, and I plan to put an end to it. There are two conditions. First, you will hand over Harriet Potter. Second, you will pardon and release every Marked Death Eater you have languishing in that torture chamber you call a prison."

The Minister spluttered incoherently and Voldemort rolled his eyes. _This_ was the man at the head of Britain's magical population. Pathetic. 

"Now, you and I both know I am capable of accomplishing both things of my own accord. But I plan to be...legitimate, now, and therefore I require your assistance. What say you?"

"I--this is...You truly aim to end the war?" he asked in a disgustingly small voice. 

"Yes," Voldemort said. "And all it will take is one girl and a dozen odd inmates. You will save the lives of thousands, Cornelius. Think about it."

He swallowed. "You w-will give your word?"

"My dear, I will give an oath if that's what it takes to make up your mind."

Fudge licked his lips, looking anywhere except at Voldemort. His hands twisted childishly in his robes.

"The child...what will become of her?"

Oh look. A spine.

"And if I said I'm going to torture her until she drowns in her own blood?"

"I--I--I just--"

"Relax, Cornelius. I'm not going to kill her. No, I need her too much. You see, Harriet is the real reason I've stepped onto the straight and narrow. I require a wife who is a Parselmouth in order to claim the Slytherin Lordship, so you need not worry her demise at my hand. Now. Your answer."

Fudge squeezed his eyes shut. "Yes. I'll do it. You can have the girl and the Death Eaters."

A wide, genuine smile crept across his face. 

Success.

"Thank you, darling," he all but purred. "I will hold you to that oath by blood and magic. Now, you're going to sign this parchment, and all that you just said will become legally binding."

Fudge didn't even bother to read it before signing with trembling hands. The poor man looked fit to be sick.

"Excellent. And in the meantime, we have another appointment to keep."

With that, he unstuck the Minister, forced the man to touch the Portkey around Voldemort's wrist, and spoke the activation phrase. 

They appeared in a back room of the Hog's Head pub in a flash. Dumbledore was already waiting, his wand out and eyes flinty. He looked really very old. 

"Greetings, Albus."

"Tom. I did not expect the Minister to be here today. I assume he is your hostage?"

"Hm, no actually. We're more like business partners at this point. Severus did tell you of my plans to take the, ah, more socially acceptable route, did he not?"

"He did. I must say Tom, that never will any see what you do as acceptable--"

"Right, sure," Voldemort interrupted, feeling precisely like the impudent, reckless teenager he had never truly been. "I understand your opinion. Let's get down to business, shall we? I want the girl."

"And you will not have her."

Voldemort grinned. 

"And I rather think I will. Tell me, what would your little saviour do, if I told her that it was her or a war? Do you think she would choose to save herself? No. You've done your work too well for that."

Dumbledore's eyes flashed with something like panic. He always had been hopeless at hiding his emotions, the absolute Gryffindor.

"I will not let you touch her," the Headmaster said grimly, raising his wand. Minister Fudge squeaked and ducked.

Voldemort dropped casually into one of the chairs, pretending that his heart wasn't pounding with fear only this insufferable man could ever make him feel.

"Please Professor, relax. Take a seat, have some tea. There really is no need for all the drama."

Slowly, Dumbledore sat. He did, in fact, pour himself some of the tea the barkeep had left out for them. Seeing as said barkeep was Dumbledore's estranged brother, Voldemort did not trust the tea not to be tampered with. Though whether the hypothetical poison was for him or the old man was an interesting question.

"You have changed, Tom," Dumbledore said gravely. Voldemort's head tilted. There was something there, a weakness.

"People tend to do that, yes. You say it like it's such a bad thing. I thought you would be happy to know I no longer aim to slaughter my way to victory!"

"You never would have won, my boy. There is too much good in the world for that."

Voldemort actually had to pause and do a double take. Had those words seriously just come out of his mouth?

"Setting aside the sheer idiocy of believing in the world's inherent goodness, you propose that a hold won through blood will be forever slippery, yes?"

"What an awfully poetic way to put it," Dumbledore mused, apparently having regained some of his aggravating calm and perpetual amusement. 

"I believe you are, in essence, correct. On that point at least, and for a man other than myself."

Neither Julius Caesar nor Alexander the Great had been immortal after all.

"You arrogance knows no bounds, my boy."

"Perhaps. But in any case, the point is moot. Conquest through blood is no longer the plan, Albus. I will..."

Voldemort trailed off.

"But that's exactly what you're afraid of," he breathed. "You think you have a decent chance of winning a civil war, but you are outnumbered in the political arena. You would actually prefer to fight!"

To his (extremely limited) credit, Dumbledore didn't flinch. But he couldn't control his other reactions, and the color drained visibly from his face. 

"Dumbledore? Albus?" the Minister asked, eyes huge. "You're not--that's not true, is it? It is! You would sooner let our people go to war than let old grudges die!"

Aww, there was that spine again. Adorable. Voldemort sat back in his chair and watched the two of them go at it. 

"Voldemort will ruin us either way, Cornelius. It is a ploy, a trick to gain more power--"

"Of course it's a ploy you insufferable old goat! That's what politics IS! By Merlin, at least he's honest about it! And you know what, even if he did ruin us, at least this way less people will be dead!"

"Death is not so terrible, Cornelius," Dumbledore said. Which was possibly the worst thing he could say. Fudge's face went so red Voldemort wondered if he was about to have a stroke. 

"Tell that to children who have to grow up without their parents, Dumbledore," he whispered, voice shaking. "Tell that to the widows, and the brothers who lost their sisters, and the couples mourning their children. I can't believe this. I trusted you, Dumbledore."

Voldemort truly wanted to cackle in that moment, like the madman he no longer was. 

"Cornelius, listen to me--"

"No. No, I won't." And with that he turned and walked from the room. At any other time Voldemort might have bristled at the disrespect to himself, but the insult to Dumbledore outweighed the sting to his pride. Besides, he'd gotten exactly what he wanted.

"I suppose you're happy now, Tom."

"Ecstatic," he confirmed airily. 

"I do hate to use a cliché, but you won't be getting away with this. We will stop you, one way or another." He stood, walked to the door, and apparated.

Voldemort really did cackle then. He stood as well, leaving a generous tip on the table, and Portkeyed back to the Minister's office. Fudge was already there, wringing his hands.

And, standing impatient and confused between two Aurors, so was Harriet Potter.

...

Harry wasn't sure exactly when or why the dream-vision faded into actual sleep. But she woke up instantly to the sound of Petunia screaming and the crackle of spells hurled into shields. 

She bolted upright, darting towards the stairs. What she saw made her heart leap for her throat.

A scruffy, sleazy looking man and unfamiliar woman were dueling with a trio of Aurors in the middle of the living room. A rebounding spell hit a cowering Petunia in the gut, and she collapsed. Harry gasped. She might not have liked Petunia but that didn't mean she deserved to get cursed by a Death Eater!

Harry pointed her wand over the banister. 

"Stupefy," she snarled.

The woman fell and the scruffy man was left facing three Aurors on his own. He did the logical thing and ran, dodging several hexes, apparating mid-air as he dove out the front door.

"What's happening?" Harry demanded, hurrying down the stairs. 

"Greetings, Miss Potter. We're going to have to ask you to come with us," the lead Auror said as one of his colleagues conjured ropes around the unconscious attacker. The other one was keeping watch out of the open door.

"Why? What happened? I thought it was supposed to be safe here! What about Petunia?"

Two loud _cracks_ split the air. The lead Auror cursed and grabbed her arm. 

"No time!"

He shoved a pocketwatch into her hand and shouted 'Ministry of Magic'. The Portkey took effect just as more unknown wizards burst into the house. She landed in the Minister's office, where that one frumpy pink witch was waiting.

"Miss Potter! Where are your escorts?"

"I--there were these other wizards that attacked them. But, what's going on? Is it Death Eaters?"

The woman cooed sympathetically.

"Poor, dear child. No, Miss Potter, there are no more Death Eaters out to get you, I promise. In any case, you are safe here."

"Fine," Harry said, not in the mood to argue. "But why _am_ I here?"

"A few minutes ago, the Minister signed an emergency dispatch order to your home, with a warning that there may be assailant. We don't know where he got the tip, as he was called away on urgent business right after, but--"

That moment, Fudge burst from the fireplace. Harry really didn't like the man, but she felt a sharp surge of concern. He looked just awful; sweaty and trembling and peaky as anything. 

"Are you alright, sir?" she asked. Fudge jumped as if she'd shot a gun by his ear. 

"Miss Potter? What in Merlin's name are you doing here?"

Two of the Aurors from before appeared almost at the same time. They moved to flank Harry, wands drawn and eyes alert. 

"Minister? Are you quite well?" the pink witch asked, rushing forwards. "You signed the order to bring her here, remember?"

He wrung his hands together nervously.

"Oh, yes I--I had completely forgotten--"

Something oddly like laughter thrummed under her ribcage. Voldemort was happy. Then the air twisted, depositing a man in the office, and Harry found out why. 

"Leave us," Voldemort said, eyes on Harry. She felt frozen. She'd only just escaped from this nightmare!

"I beg your pardon--"

"Do as he says! For Merlin's sake, out! Everybody, now!"

Her stomach curdled. Fudge was on Voldemort's side. Harry snapped her wand up and cursed Voldemort, hoping to catch him off guard. He deflected the spell easily and stuck her to the wall.

The door slammed shut behind the Minister. Voldemort stalked closer. Harry felt like screaming and the torture hadn't even started yet. 

"Greetings, Harriet. I'm going to release you. You will hand over your new wand, sit down to tea, and we will discuss the terms of a truce. Do you find yourself amenable?"

"Liar," Harry spat, refusing to entertain hope. 

"Mm, certainly. But not this time."

"No." She shook her head. "This is all just some sick, twisted game for you to torture me with! I won't give in--"

"For the love of Salazar, girl. I, Lord Voldemort, do swear by blood and magic that I am in earnest. Satisfied?"

Harry gaped. The only time she ever saw someone swear on blood and magic was when a Seventh Year Slytherin went down on his knees in front of his fiancé at the Ravenclaw table, vowing that he had never cheated on her. Everybody had been incredibly impressed, even the other Gryffindors. To break that kind of oath would unleash a curse almost as bad as killing a unicorn would.

"...Yes."

Voldemort did unstick her and took a seat in the Minister's chair. Harry edged around to sit in front of him.

"Your wand, Harriet."

She handed it over, skin crawling and teeth gritted. That was two wands she had lost to this maniac in as many weeks.

"Thank you. Now, to business. You, my dear, are in the entirely unique position of holding the key to end the war."

"What? You're--" Lying, she was going to say. Except he wasn't. 

"What do I have to do?" Harry croaked, leaning forward in her chair. Voldemort smiled; a lovely, evil smile.

"I knew you would see sense. All you have to do is come with me, no fuss, and swear an Unbreakable Vow that you will never voluntarily leave my side. What say you, Harriet Potter?"

Her mouth was dry. Her head pounded. Her palms were sweaty, her heart galloped, and she thought she might faint. 

"No war," she rasped. "And...and you leave my friends alone." 

"You will provide a list of no more than ten people."

Her heart leapt. Harry hadn't expected him to agree to that!

"The Weasley kids," she said immediately. "Hermione Granger..." Who else was she close to? Who might be in danger because of her? 

"And Sirius Black and Remus Lupin," Harry finished. 

"It will be done. Me and mine will not harm you and yours unprovoked, but if they attack first, their protection is revoked," Voldemort said.

"But--!"

"I do not have to give you this choice. I don't have to give you anything. It is this or nothing, Harriet."

"Okay, fine! Deal."

"Deal," Voldemort crooned, another lovely, twisted smile spreading across his face. "We have no Binder at this time, but you will repeat after me, swearing on your blood and magic."

She repeated the words he spoke, the last nail in her coffin.

"I, Harriet Potter, do swear by blood and magic that I will...that I will never willingly part with Lord Voldemort unless otherwise instructed or permitted by the man himself."

Harry wanted to die at the waves of happiness radiating from Voldemort. Of course, in all likelihood she would, soon enough. She closed her eyes, and nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand settled on her hair.

"You have made the right decision, Harriet. Thousands will live because of your actions."

Harry knew that. She lifted her head to spit in his face, and the room exploded around them.


	5. crescendo

Harry yelled, but the wall exploded outwards, not in. Voldemort was throwing a shield around her and firing curses at the figure who stepped through the wall, all before Harry could do more than leap to her feet. 

"Release her!" Dumbledore thundered, throwing out his hands. The desks and chairs in the room came alive, turning on Voldemort. He smashed them to splinters. 

"So desperate for war you can't let go of one girl, old man?" Voldemort shot actual lightning at Dumbledore, like in _Star Wars_.

Dumbledore cried out, flesh blistering, but he hurled a globe of light into the air. It exploded with a burning heat and Harry went temporarily blind. She could hear Voldemort howl, and desperately hoped that Dumbledore would just kill him. Then all her problems would be solved.

"HARRY!" Her head snapped up. Sirius! Her godfather and about twenty other witches and wizards charged onto the scene. They ripped chunks of wall out of the way to make room, hurled curses and transfigured rubble. 

Through this Harry watched, amazed, as Voldemort weathered it all. He was insanely outnumbered, and still managed to hold his own. But even he couldn't be everywhere at once, and Sirius slipped around the fighting and ran towards her bubble of a shield.

"Harry," he repeated. "Don't worry, we'll get you out of here."

"No, Sirius, you don't understand! If I give myself up he'll stop the war!"

Sirius attacked the shield grimly.

"He won't, Harry. It's a trick--"

"He swore by blood and magic! Sirius, you can't!"

Sirius froze for a split second before his features hardened. He attacked the shield with renewed vigor. The air was a riot of color, Voldemort a blur of white and crimson and black. And yet, for all his power he was losing ground.

With one last spell the shield cracked, and Sirius lunged forward. 

Harry dodged him once, twice, but he caught a hold of her hand and pulled her close to his chest. The last thing Harry saw before he apparated was masked Aurors arriving in droves...and the look of absolute fury in Voldemort's eyes.

Harry shoved Sirius away hard when they landed.

"Why would you do that?!" she screamed. "I had a chance to save thousands of people!"

"By sacrificing your own life!" Sirius bellowed, seizing her arm. "Lily and James _died_ for you Harry, the least you could do is honor that by staying alive!" 

She flinched back. The words seared deep into her heart, and Sirius' face crumpled.

"Oh Merlin. Prongslet, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean--"

"Yes you did," Harry said, not looking at him. They were standing in front of a row of townhouses, muggles passing by them without seeing.

"But I am sorry. It's just that you can't throw away your own life like that!"

"What, but I can throw away anyone else's?" she retorted. "Voldemort made a deal! I could save people if you just-"

"It's not your job to keep people safe!" he yelled. "And you--Godric, what are we still doing outside?"

He towed her forward, and Harry wasn't quite enough of a brat to kick him in the shims, but it was tempting. 

"The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix are at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place," Sirius whispered to her.

Another townhouse popped into being, and Sirius dragged her inside.

"I can't believe you," Harry snarled. 

"I'm your Godfather. It's my job to keep _you_ safe, not the rest of the world!" He frog marched her up the stairs, Harry fighting and swearing the whole way. 

Eventually Harry just went limp, as she'd seen Dudley do countless times as a child. Unfortunately, the trick didn't work the same without his crushing weight. Sirius swept her up in his arms without missing a beat. 

They came to a door with a delicate gold plaque that read: 'Harriet' in looping caligraphy. Harry was so surprised that she forgot to struggle. 

Sirius swept inside, deposited her on the bed, and was gone before she got over her surprise. Harry bounded towards the door, rattling the knob. Locked. 

"Sirius!" she shouted. "Let me out! _Sirius!_ Where are you going?!" 

"To keep Remus from being killed by Death Eaters!" Was the muffled reply. A door slammed and magic shuddered in the air. Down below someone started shrieking but Harry couldn't make out any words. She swore and kicked the door in frustration.

Harry turned around and paused. The room was...well, it was beautiful. It had all of her favorite colors--turquoise and purple and Gryffindor gold. Muggle fairy lights hung from the ceiling. The bed was a ginormous fluffy thing, practically buried in pillows with elegant hangings. Moving pictures of various magical creatures graced the walls, unicorns and fairies and hippogriffs and pearlescent dragons. 

Next to the bed there was a blue corkboard, already half covered in pictures. Harry slapped a hand over her mouth when she got close enough to see it clearly.

Photos of the Marauders, of her mum and dad dancing, a wedding picture, a muggle photograph of her mum and Petunia as children, a baby picture of her dad covered in blue paint, and something that made tears come to even her eyes. It was a sheet of half-hearted Transfiguration notes, with doodles of hearts and arrows and what was unmistakably her mother's face, screwed up in irritation.

Along the margins and bottom of the parchment, variations of three names repeated in casually elegant cursive. Lily Evans Potter. Lily Potter-Evans. Evans-Potter. James Potter-Evans. James Evans. 

And...and below that...Victoria Rose Potter. Daisy Lily Evans. Harriet Elizabeth Potter-Evans. Harriet Lily Evans Potter. 

Harry reached out and touched the last name on the list. It was circled several times. It was _her_ name. 

For the first time in years, true tears welled up in her eyes. Harry sank to the floor and cried. She cried for her parents. She cried for Sirius, and Remus, and even Peter Pettigrew. And most of all, she cried for herself. Because Harry knew there was no way she'd be able to bear it if she let any other families be torn apart by Lord Voldemort.

...

Rita Skeeter's quill was on fire. She scritched her way through dozens of parchment, never faltering, as she shamelessly drooled over the drama unfolding before her. 

Dumbledore had attacked the Ministry. _Dumbledore_ had attacked the Ministry. Dumbledore had attacked the _Ministry._

This was what they called a field day! Rita hurried through the rubble. The vigilante group--no, the terrorist organization--known as the Order of the Phoenix was almost completely gone from the scene. Bozo, the dear man, snapped pictures of the few criminals left, being hauled off by the Aurors.

Dumbledore was long gone, but what Rita wanted was the brave, handsome young man who had held off the entire Order on his own, all to protect the Girl-Who-Lived! Was he an old flame? A fervent admirer? Secret sweetheart? 

"Wait!" Rita screeched as she caught sight of him. The man--more of boy this close up--glanced briefly in their direction. Dark wavy hair. Porcelain skin. Stunning features almost artfully dotted with scrapes and blood splatters. 

Bozo got the picture, and the mysterious boy apparated. Rita cursed, and hurried over to the Minister instead. He was speaking rapidly with Head Auror Bones, both of their faces streaked with ash. The Minister's robes were smouldering, and Bones had a nasty gash along her arm. Bozo captured that image too. 

"Minister! What happened here today?"

"A betrayal," Fudge said grimly. "By one of the most respected figures in our society. We believe he sent agents to kidnap Harriet Potter and blame it on He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but I recieved word from an anonymous source and sent Aurors just in time. They brought her back here, but mere minutes later, Dumbledore attacked."

"And why do you think he did that?"

"There is no logical explanation," Bones said. "Perhaps he's finally cracked. He claimed to be rescuing the girl from You-Know-Who, if you can believe it."

Fudge went pale. 

"Yes. Qu-quite preposterous." Rita made a note. 

"And what of the young man who was here? Who is he? What is his connection to Miss Potter?"

"We, ah, we don't know any of those things."

"But Minister, he was in _your_ office." 

"I don't know him well, not even a name," Fudge said hastily. "He was merely a citizen concerned with Miss Potter's welfare."

Rita pounced. 

"So he was the one who left the anonymous tip, then?" 

"I--yes, he was." 

"And did he seem familiar with Miss Potter?"

Fudge barked a laugh. "Familiar. Yes, you could say that."

"Did he say where he knew her from?"

"No! Merlin, woman, enough about it already!"

"As you say, Minister," Rita allowed, making a note to write something unflattering about Fudge for the insult. "Dumbledore, then. What is to be his punishment?"

"Undecided," Bones said. "He will be stripped of his positions of Headmaster and Supreme Mugwump, and as soon as we catch him, further investigation will determine the rest of his fate."

A young Auror with white hair apparated in, ashen faced, and Bones excused herself.

"I must go. Farewell, Minister, Ms Skeeter."

"I really must be going as well," Fudge said, leaping at the chance. "I'll schedule a press conference soon. Farewell."

"Farewell," Rita replied, though she really wasn't much one for the stuffy old ettiquite. She had what she needed from them for the moment; just enough to roll out one _very_ juicy article. 

...

Voldemort was seething. That miserable old coot. He truly had not predicted that anyone could be so stupid. The Order of the Phoenix were criminals now, it was true, and Dumbledore had been stripped of his most powerful positions. 

But that was no consolation when he had lost his horcrux and golden ticket into the Wizengamot. He had no idea where she was, and with the strength of their magical bond, that could mean nothing less than a Fidelius Charm. 

He couldn't find her. Voldemort didn't even know where to start looking! Oh, he would find her eventually, but how long would that take? A month? Six months? It had taken him a year to find the Potters the first time!

His plans could not wait a year. That was a year Dumbledore had to plot against him and build up his forces, and if Voldemort didn't respond in kind his Knights would be crushed. But if he did, it would be tantamount to declaring war, the one thing he wanted to avoid!

 _"You must be calm, snakeling. You wound you followers."_ And sure enough, his anger was leaking through the web of Marks, no doubt searing with pain.

_"I don't care. Let them suffer."_

Nagini hissed aggressively, uncoiling from her perch. He snarled back, only to yelp in absolute shock as she reared back and bit him.

_"Nagini! You dare attack your--?!"_

_"Yes I dare, stupid snakeling! I am not a pet or one of your servants!"_

Voldemort was angry, and ashamed, which only made him more angry.

_"I know you aren't! There's no need to bite me!"_

_"There is every need!"_ Nagini retorted. _"Naughty hatchlings need to learn to respect their equals!"_

Voldemort swore at her, and dodged as she struck again. They weaved around them room, him firing harmless but painful hexes and her attacking with dry bites. 

This was not an uncommon occurance, but it was one that had usually been reserved for the early days of their acquaintance, before they had truly grown close. It was almost comfortingly familiar, in a way.

Eventually Voldemort stopped and bent over, panting. Nagini butted her head against his leg. 

_"Are you done now, hatchling?"_

_"I thought I graduated to snakeling when I won my first battle,"_ he said, running his hands along her scales and healing the damage there. 

_"That was before you treated me like a servant. Do you think I serve you? Should I call you Master?"_

_"NO! Don't ever say that! Nagini...you are...a partner, to me. A...a nestmate,"_ Voldemort admitted, feeling like he was pulling his own teeth. She was to him what no other had ever been. The thought of relegating her to mere follower made something uncomfortable throb in his chest.

_"The word you are dancing around is 'friend', snakeling. You are mine as well."_

_"Yours,"_ he said, the word still foreign in context to himself, no matter how many times she said it so casually.

 _"And...you are mine?"_ Merlin, he felt like such an idiot. But the words just slipped out. Nagini was the only one who prompted such reactions from him. Anyone else Voldemort would have killed for it.

_"Yes, silly snakeling. That is what I said. Now, tell me what the problem is. Perhaps your human brain is making it more complicated than it needs to be."_

_"You were a human once too,"_ Voldemort pointed out, miffed. But nevertheless he lowered himself gingerly into his plush office chair and let Nagini wrap her comforting weight around him.

 _"Not for a very long time,"_ she said quietly. Voldemort ran a hand along her scales, comfort and apology. _"Your problem?"_

_"The girl...hatchling. She has been stolen away from us, and I cannot sense her location."_

_"The old goat?"_

_"Yes."_

Nagini hummed, resting her head on his shoulder. He leaned his head gently against her's. He could feel Harriet's phantom anger singing in his veins, but that was the extent of it.

_"Why do you not reach out through your mind?"_

_"She would not be able to tell me where she is even if she wanted to. Which she does not."_

_"Did she not swear?"_

_"No, she did. It didn't say anything about what to do if she was taken from me."_

_"If what I have gleaned of her nature is accurate, the hatchling will not hide. In...fact, I rather think she will be the one to contact you."_

That was when he felt it. A tremulous, tentative nudging at the edge of his shields. Nagini was right. It was Harriet.

...

Harry, the tear tracks still drying on her cheeks, picked the lock on her door with two bobby pins and a lot of cussing. Unfortunately, when she darted out of the door, she walked straight into Ron Weasley.

He caught her in a hug.

"Told them the twins taught you how to do that," he whispered into her hair. Harry clutched him back, the stupid traitor.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, pulling back and wiping her nose on her sleeve. 

"Making sure you don't go off and do anything stupid and heroic," Ginny answered. It was only then that Harry noticed that there were four redheads in the hallway, not one.

"Good luck with that," Harry said, only half joking. Ginny narrowed her eyes and cracked her knuckles threateningly. The twins each wrapped an arm around, physically lifting her as they were prone to do with the people they liked. 

"Don't just stand there," Fred said.

"Yeah, no lollygagging. What--"

"--would mum say, Ronnekins?"

Ginny and Ron followed them down the stairs.

"Mum told us to bring you down straight away if you broke out," Ginny explained.

"Yeah. Prepare to be kept so busy you'll forget about anything except cleaning rags and doxicide," Ron groaned. 

True to his word, Mrs Weasley shoved a rag and spray bottle into her hands as soon as she finished hugging her to death. 

"The lot of you, just...go find someplace dirty to clean on the second floor. Keep away from the attic. Stay together, and don't let Harry out of your sight! I'll call you when supper is ready."

They trooped up the stairs, Harry stuck firmly in the middle of the pack. How was she ever going to find a way to escape now? 

"Hermione was supposed to come this week," Ron said as they attacked an infested curtain. "But with...everything, Dumbledore thought it was best not to."

Harry gritted her teeth. Dumbledore. He feelings towards the man had never been so complicated. Sure he'd saved her life, but doomed countless of other lives in the process! Why? Wasn't he supposed to be the good guy? How could he just sacrifice them like that?

"Right," Harry managed when it appeared Ron was looking for a response. He continued on doggedly, chattering about this and that, his siblings joining in. She learned all about the Order of the Phoenix, and that this was Sirius' old house, and there was a barmy old house elf who was mainly the caretaker for a mysterious wizard who looked like Sirius and slept all the time.

Apparently over half the Order had been captured and the remainder was here, in hiding. Harry wondered why she hadn't seen any of them but couldn't really bring herself to care. Not even to ask if Sirius and Lupin made it back.

Everything seemed dull and distant. Even Voldemort's anger smoldering in her chest was barely noticeable. But when, just when she thought nothing would be able to break through her black mood, they found the locket.

It was heavy and ornate and old fashioned. It was covered in bugs and filth. It was probably hexed. And yet...somehow it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. And so familiar! Like meeting an old friend again after a long time.

"Can I see?" Harry asked eagerly. Ginny looked more than happy to give it to her.

"Careful," George warned. "It might be cursed or something."

Harry opened her mouth to agree. What came out was:

"I doubt it. I'm sure the Order combed this place for Dark objects a million times. No way they'd let kids in here otherwise."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

"But do you seriously want to keep it?" Ginny asked. 

"It's pretty," Harry said innocently. Ginny hummed, pursing her lips.

"Maybe with the right sort of dress robes. It's awfully old."

Harry shrugged and wrapped the chain over her neck, dropping the locket under her oversized hoodie. The surface was startlingly warm against her skin and ticked softly, like a second heartbeat. Harry found herself instantly more grounded. She even joined in on the banter.

"And to think all it took was a pretty necklace," Fred laughed, nudging her playfully. 

"We'll keep that in mind for the next time we dye your hair pink!" George continued. Harry swatted at them.

"Don't even think about it," she fake growled. Before she knew it Harry was chasing them down into the kitchen, where they hid behind their mother, pretending to cower.

Harry circled and they continued to edge around, keeping Molly between them at all times. Finally, she feinted right and then positively lunged left, slamming bodily into Fred. 

Success!

"Children, really!" Mrs Weasley cried, but she didn't actually seem cross. Harry managed to get in a few good tickles before George grabbed her waist from behind, swinging her around the kitchen. 

Ginny dived into the fray with a war cry, Ron at her heels. Soon enough it was a free-for-all, and they were pouncing on anyone's exposed back, flinging the fresh peas Mrs Weasley made across the room. Harry's anger seemed to be draining slowly but surely away under the onslaught of genuine care.

"Alright alright, that's enough! Sit, all of you!"

Dinner was enjoyable affair, and Harry was hit with a renewed sense of affection and determination. She had to protect these people no matter the cost. _Had_ to. How could she live with herself otherwise?

Once dinner was over, Harry faked a returning sadness and escaped up to her bedroom for some 'peace and quiet'. She didn't doubt there were people outside the doors, and she already knew the window didn't open. That was fine. She didn't need to leave in order to escape.

Harry crawled into the heavenly soft bed and put the locket on her bedside table. She pulled the covers up over her chin and closed her eyes, focusing very hard on Voldemort, of reaching across the country towards the ever present simmer of foreign emotion. 

Her vision went black. When it cleared again, she was staring up at Voldemort, an absolutely massive snake draped all across him. 

"Harriet? Where are you!" 

Harry tried to respond, but the words stuck in her throat. She thought fast. No way was she giving up that easily!

"I can't tell you that. But I _can_ tell you the place next door."

Voldemort smirked and the snake chuffed in amusement. There was something strangely familiar about it...

"Clever girl," he murmured. "Tell me."

"Number 11, Grimmauld Place. I--I'm not sure exactly where it is--"

"I know it," Voldemort interrupted. "I will be there shortly. Now go; I have plans to make."

He gave her insubstantial self a push, magic rising like a tidal wave. Harry found herself gasping awake back in the townhouse, chills racing all across her body. 

_Swiftly, Harriet_.

Harry grabbed the locket and stumbled out of bed, limbs oddly uncoordinated. She shuffled over to the corkboard and carellly slid out the parchment with the names and a picture of her parents on their wedding day. She tucked them into her hoodie pocket and took a breath.

She was ready. 

Harry pasted a vaguely listless look on her face and opened her door. Just as predicted, the Weasley kids were camped out there with a sprawl of blackets and pillows that said they planned on staying.

"Hey mate," Ron said. "Wanna play?"

He gestured to the chessboard across from him and Harry shrugged. She needed to keep a low profile anyway. It was hard to keep her mind on the game at first, but soon Harry found herself drawn into it. She found patterns she'd never noticed before, tics of Ron's she'd previously dismissed.

Twenty minutes later, Ginny and the twins were crowded around, watching in awe as she and Ron battled, the chess prices roaring enouragment. 

At last Ron checkmated her and Harry slumped against the wall, stunned. Ron was staring at her with unhidden delight. 

"Mate, that was brilliant! Since when could you do that?!"

"I don't know!" Harry said. "It was, just now it was like something clicked and suddenly I could see all sorts of patterns!"

"Wicked," Ron grinned. "Wanna go again?"

Harry was about to say yes when Mrs Weasley barreled up the stairs, wand in hand.

"In the room now, all of you!" she roared, and then didn't wait for them to comply. She swished her wand and suddenly they were being shoved through Harry's door one at a time. Harry hammered on the door, which was locked again. 

"HEY! What's happening?! Let us out!"

"Harry," Ron croaked, standing by the window. They all rushed over and Harry had to catch Ginny as her knees buckled.

"Tom," she whispered, freckles standings out as sharply as blood splatters. 

And sure enough, Voldemort stood below, along with a small sea of black cloaked wizards. They wore not Death Eater skulls but delicate animal-themed masks like the one that woman in Voldemort's manor did. 

"I will say this one time only. Give me Harriet Potter. Your ranks are decimated. If you choose to resist, you will be crushed. If you deliver the girl now, you will be spared. Decide now. I am waiting." His dark, velvety voice reverberated in her bones, magically magnified somehow. Several sets of hands wrapped around her arms.

"You're not going anywhere," Ron swore, his eyes almost glowing with the force of his anger. 

_We'll see about that_ , Harry thought.

...

It was the voice that woke him. Kreacher was at his side in an instant, looking shockingly old and wizened, even for him

"Master Regulus?"

"Who--what's happening?" he demanded, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Regulus summoned his wand, familiar wood slapping into his palm.

"It is being the Dark Lord, sir! The Dark is demanding the Potter girl!"

"What?" Regulus ran from the room, meeting up with the Weasley woman halfway to the front windows.

"What's going on?" he asked again, hoping she would be more clear than the elf. 

"You-Know-Who is here," she said, voice trembling violently. "And his Death Eaters. They're here for Harry."

"But what would he want with a child?"

Weasley laughed hysterically. "Revenge, what else?" 

That was right. Sirius told him of the ridiculous stories about the girl, that she had survived the Killing Curse and vanquished the Dark Lord. If anything, _Regulus_ had vanished when Kreacher destroyed the locket. But now he was back, somehow, and he was after Sirius' goddaughter. 

"Right. How many fighters do we have?"

"I--a dozen Order members escaped custody, but of them only nine have wands!" 

Regulus swore.

"Can the wards withstand a seige?" They _had_ to have added on to the original wards.

Weasley nodded uncertainly. "We're under the Fidelius, and Dumbledore is--ah!"

That voice again, icy and dangerous.

"I see you have made your decision." Regulus bolted for the window. The young man from the cave stood there, scarlet eyes ago, flanked by dozens of Death Eaters in masquerade masks. And kneeling in rows before him...

"I have acquired your wayward comrades. One will die for every minute you refuse to relinquish the girl, until Harriet Potter stand before me. _Avada kedavra_."

Sirius was third in line.

A dark haired woman fell in a flash of green. Regulus couldn't breathe. Weasley cried out next to him, and so did several other he didn't even realize had appeared. 

Sirius. The girl.

"We have to do something!"

"Has anyone contacted Dumbledore yet?!"

"Hestia, no!

His brother or the girl.

Around him, Order members were arguing, a few crying, most furious. Regulus was frozen.

His brother or the girl. 

Upstairs, something shattered. A dark haired teenager came sprinting down the stairs, a veritable drove of Weasleys at her heels. Her eyes glowed emerald.

"HARRY! DON'T YOU DARE!" Weasley's wand flashed forward in unison with a half dozen others. The girl dodged some spells and shielded against others with not even a wand to her name.

His brother or the girl.

Regulus moved.

"Expelliarmus! Stupefy, stupefy, incarcerous!" Four Order members fell. In the spit second before they returned fire, Regulus spun and cast his most powerful unlocking charm at the door. 

The last thing he was before the ground rushed up to meet him was the girl leaping through the door, straight into the Dark Lord's arms.

...

The woman fell in a blaze of green and Harry struck. She twisted and clawed and _yanked_ , ripping away from restraining hands with the ease of a decade's practice. She bolted for the door. Ron lunged after her but Harry had learned early on never to flee in a straight line. He missed, slamming headlong into the mirror. It shattered and Harry was already at the stairs, bounding down a reckless three at a time.

Mrs Weasley screamed, and Harry saw the spells flying towards her as if in slow motion. A dozen strategies she had never leaned passed through her mind. Harry ducked one spell, threw up a shield against the next, and dove into a roll under the last two.

A man who looked like Sirius blurred into motion. In seconds the door was open, wizards falling like stones around her. Harry made for the open door in the largest bound she had managed to date.

Unnaturally strong arms caught her deftly, and for a second Harry was left staring up into burning crimson eyes. 

Voldemort apparated. 


	6. caught

The world twisted. It was more than the normal squeeze of apparition; her blood seemed to simmer, heat baked deep into her bones. Everything about it was warmth and chaos and power.

And then it was over.

They landed and Harry immediately tried to pull away. Voldemort refused to relinquish his grip on her arms. 

"Get! Off!" she shouted, tugging as hard as she could, and abruptly, Voldemort let go. Harry toppled over backwards onto a surprisingly soft rug. 

Two sets of laughter surrounded her: Voldemort's soft chuckle and a silibant hiss that echoed oddly in her ears. Harry scrambled to her feet, ears burning. 

_"Silly hatchling_ ," said a very familiar voice. 

"Nagini?!" Harry whipped around, but instead of a snake woman there was just a snake, huge and green and coiled up on a big, Gryffindor-scarlet bed. 

"Oh, good, you two have met. A dream, I presume?"

Harry just stared as the 'snake' hissed a lazy affirmative. Nagini, the odd, kind woman from the dream...was Voldemort's pet snake? 

Her first instinct was to scream betrayal. Her second was two punch Voldemort in his perfect face. And her third was to dart over and rescue Nagini, who was being lazily stroked like she was a common animal and not a intelligent, sentient being. 

"Stop that," Harry burst out. "She's not a pet!"

Voldemort's eyes flashed to hers'. "Of course she isn't. She is my partner."

"Oh, I bet that's what you tell her! But then why are you petting her like some animal?!"

Voldemort and Nagini both looked at her then. For a moment Harry thought she'd broken through to Nagini. Then they hissed with laughter in unison. 

_"You are a sweet, silly hatchling. Do not worry; the snakelet knows his place."_

What. 

Harry expected Voldemort to curse Nagini for the insult, or at least smack her or something. But he just. Smiled, fondly, and ran an affectionate hand over her head. He had _dimples_! It was so deceptively harmless looking. 

_"Certainly,"_ he said. It sounded like an inside joke. Harry was beyond out of her element. Where was the torture, the taunting, the killing and murder?

"Yes, about that," Voldemort said, straightening.

Harry braced herself. This was it. 

"I'm afraid there will be no murder, not of you at least. As satisfying as that would be, there are more important uses for you, my dear."

"Stop lying," Harry said flatly, and though her stomach gave a little lurch, she refused to hope. Herself for the world she loved, that was the deal. The idea of getting through it unscathed was too good to be true. 

"Contrary to popular belief, not everything to come out of my mouth is an untruth. You, Harriet Potter, will not by dying by my hand. Or at all, if I get my way, and I always do."

"Oh yeah? Why?" she scoffed, pushing back any notion that it might be true.

"Well..." He flashed her a terrifyingly wicked smile, dimples flashing for the second time. "Because I need you to marry me."

Harry froze. Her mouth, she noticed, was hanging open. She couldn't seem to close it. Of all of the things Voldemort could have said, that was the craziest, the most unexpected and least understandable. Just-- _what?_

"What?" Harry said stupidly. Voldemort smiled again. His red eyes were dancing and Nagini laughed openly.

"Why don't you sit down, luv?"

Harry sat, not because he told her to, but because she had lost feeling in her legs. She perched stiffly on the side of the bed farthest from Nagini and waited for the other shoe to drop. 

"Very good. It has recently come to my attention that you are a Parselmouth."

"So what?" Harry interrupted. Voldemort raised an eyebrow.

"I was just about to explain that, strangely enough. I require a female Parselmouth to marry in order to become Lord Slytherin and take my rightful place at the head of the Wizengamot."

Harry's mind buzzed with white noise. She looked at Voldemort, really looked. At the easy lounging posture, fingers that toyed uncharacteristically with the sleeves of his open robes, the tension she couldn't spot but knew was there.

"You're actually serious," she croaked. Voldemort's smile was almost a grimace. 

"Unfortunately. I don't much fancy the idea of marriage at all, much less to my fourteen year old prophesied enemy."

"I'm almost fifteen," Harry said. "Wait--prophesied enemy? What are you talking about?"

Voldemort's brows drew together. Anger bloomed in his chest, pounding against her own ribs in turn.

"Dumbledore never told you?"

"Told me what?" she demanded, standing up. 

Voldemort gazed at her with concentration so fierce she almost felt it against her skin. He had gone utterly still.

"The reason I went to your house that night," he murmured. "The reason I would try to kill an innocent child. The reason for _everything!_ "

"Tell me!" 

"A prophecy. A prophecy foretelling of a child born at the end of July with the power to destroy me."

The world spun and Harry sat down again. "But loads of babies are born in July," she said. Voldemort took a step forward. 

"There was other criteria. Nevertheless, it is clear you are the one." He reached out and touched her scar before Harry could pull away. It didn't hurt, but tingled lazily. She scooted back and Voldemort let her.

"Then why would you want me as your--as your wife if I could beat you?" Harry asked, wracking her brains for any sort of ability she possessed that could defeat Lord Voldemort. 

"Think, Harriet. You are the one person in Britain that has the power to turn me from the Heir of Slytherin into the Lord. I do not desire another war, but without your hand there would be no choice. It is...possible that I would lose, and thereby by refusing me you would have caused my defeat."

That didn't sound like such a bad thing. No marriages to a megalomaniac old enough to be her grandfather, and said megalomaniac gets what's coming for him.

"Not to mention the thousands of deaths you would cause," Voldemort said sweetly, "doing something so very foolish."

"You already made an oath," Harry said, the fantasy cumbling. "I'm here, aren't I? So you have to leave them alone, whether I marry you or not."

"Mm, yes. But if you ever want to see your precious little friends again, you will accept my proposal."

Hope flared again, and this time Harry couldn't bring herself to crush it. 

"You--you would let me go?" she asked, hardly daring to breathe. 

"I would let you go _out_ ," Voldemort corrected. "I will never allow one so precious as you slip from my grasp."

"Sure, whatever," Harry said, bouncing a little on the mattress. "But I can go visit them? Do you swear?"

"By blood and magic," he agreed. Harry grinned. Ron. Hermione. Ginny, Sirius, the Twins, Remus, even Percy! Brilliant. Of course, if Voldemort weren't a murdering kidnapper then she wouldn't need him to Vow to see her friends. But thinking about that would just make her angry again, and happiness felt heavenly after weeks without it.

 _"Very good, snakelet,"_ Nagini said, making her way over to Harry. _"One must always remember to keep their mate satisfied."_

Which. Oh Merlin. _Mate_. 

Harry looked quickly back at Voldemort, fear twisting her insides. They were to be _married_ if she agreed! Would he expect them to--of course he would, but she was only fourteen and he was seventy-something and she didn't want to, she'd claw his eyes out first--

"What's wrong?" Voldemort demanded. He was looking around the room with his wand drawn, as if the threat had ever been anything but himself. 

"You--we, that is--" Harry snapped her mouth shut, furious and terrified in equal measure. She couldn't even say it.

 _"The hatchling is afraid,"_ Nagini said helpfully.

 _"Yes, I can see that,"_ he snapped. _"But why now, all of the sudden? She was fine ten seconds ago!"_

 _"The hatchling,"_ Nagini said very slowly, _"is frightened that you will force the mating process."_

 _"The mating process--?_ Oh."

Harry glared at him, curling her hands into fists to hide their trembling. Voldemort's face was screwed up, and on any other it might have been labeled as exasperated disgust.

"Harriet, you don't need to worry about that. I have no interest in sex."

Harry blinked. "Really?"

"Really."

"Oh," she said lamely. "Well...good."

They stared at each other in silence. Nagini let a serpentine rush of air, the equivalent of a sigh. 

" _The Vow, humans?_ "

"Yes, of course. This way, Harriet."

Harry hopped off the bed and followed Voldemort through twisting, snake-adorned corridors to a small room while Nagini stayed behind. A woman with half blonde and half black hair curtsied lowly as they entered. She looked familiar.

"My Lord," she said, "Greetings. And greetings to you, Miss Potter."

"Greetings Cissy," Voldemort said. Harry shot him a wide eyed look. Sissy? What?

"Harriet, this is Lady Narcissa Malfoy."

"Hi," Harry managed. This was Malfoy's mum? She looked way too young to have a kid, and way too refined to be a Death Eater. 

"She will be our Binder for the Unbreakable Vow," Voldemort continued. "We will proceed now."

He held out an arm. Harry reached for it reluctantly and they clasped forearms.

"Harriet Potter," Lady Malfoy said, "do you swear never to willingly leave Lord Voldemort unless otherwise instructed or permitted by the man himself?"

"I do," Harry said easily. She'd already sworn this part. A tongue of golden flame shot from Malfoy's wand and wrapped around her and Voldemort's joined arms.

"Do you swear never to reveal any political, tactical, or otherwise sensitive information that you glean in your time with Lord Voldemort?"

Crud. There went that idea.

"I do," Harry grunted. She met Voldemort's laughing eyes and resisted the urge to do something undignified like stick her tongue out or kick him in the shins.

"And do you swear never to purposefully harm or otherwise endanger Lord Voldemort, his cause, or those under his protection unless it is necessary for your continued survival?"

"I do."

Another strand of fire shot out of her wand. They glowed and then sunk into Harry's skin. She winced a little; they burned. Harry started to pull away but Voldemort held her fast.

"Lord Voldemort, do you swear to never purposefully harm, physically or magically, William, Charlie, Percival, Frederick, George, Ronald, and Ginevra Weasley along with Sirius Black, Hermione Granger and Remus Lupin, so long as they do not attempt physical or magical harm upon yourself or those marked as under your protection?"

"I do," Voldemort said. Harry's knees went momentarily weak with sheer relief.

"And do you swear to do your utmost to protect Harriet Potter from physical and magical harm originating from any and all parties, including yourself?"

 _What?_ Voldemort would never--

"I do."

And the glowing strings sunk into his skin.

Harry stared up at him, distantly aware of the fact that her mouth was hanging open. Voldemort raised an eyebrow, smirking.

"You may leave us, Narcissa. Farewell."

"Farewell milord, Miss Potter."

"Why would you do that?" she blurted. 

"Do what, dearest?" Harry scowled at him.

"You know what! You swore to protect _me_ from _you_!"

"Indeed," he drawled, beginning to walk away. Harry hurried to keep up. 

"But why?!" Harry asked.

"Because you are to be my wife. We will be together for a long time and I would find it tedious should our relationship be antagonistic."

Harry squinted at him. Voldemort smiled back innocently.

"Whatever," she decided. Then she remembered something and reached out, yanking Voldemort to a stop. He looked gratifyingly surprised.

"Hey, I've got a bone to pick! That little display earlier: you would've killed Sirius! You swore not to!"

Voldemort grinned.

"No on both accounts. I swore not to harm your people as long as they didn't harm mine. Your Sirius had been fighting an unprovoked battle against me only hours prior."

Harry scowled again. 

"Why no on both accounts?" she asked. 

"Because I never had your godfather or the other Order members," Voldemort said simply.

"WHAT?"

"They were common rodents transfigured into the likeness of humans. The arrested Order is still languishing peacefully in the Ministry holding cells, your godfather included."

Harry gaped for a minute and Voldemort started walking again. Then she froze.

"No!"

"What _now?_ "

"Sirius is still under the Kiss on Sight order! They'll give him to the Dementors! You--you have to stop them!"

"Sirius Black was doing his best to kidnap you, kill me, and hurt honest Aurors for Albus Dumbledore. Why should I help him?"

"Please!" Harry pleaded. "I'll do--something. A favor for a favor!"

Voldemort tilted his head to the side.

"Very well. For a favor. I will leave shortly, but first I must entrust you to your minders."

" _Minders?_ " Harry repeated. "You mean I have babysitters? Seriously?"

"You will have servants and the odd companion or two," Voldemort said dryly. "Fear not. Your adolescent pride shall remain intact."

Harry glowered at him. Prat. 

"You will wait here for your servants. Do stay with them, lest you get lost in the halls and wither away before I get any use out of you. Farewell now, Harriet Potter."

He swept out of the room, the same one he first apparated them to, robes flowing behind him. Harry flopped herself back onto the bed and just...breathed. What a day. 

Not long after Voldemort left, two women entered and Harry sat up. One was perhaps as old as Mrs Weasley and the other looked to be Harry's age. She was strangely familiar.

"Greetings my Lady," they chorused, curtsying low in unison. Harry couldn't think of anything to say in return. They stayed bent down until some foreign instinct overtook her.

"Greetings. You may rise," she said without her own conscious input.

"I am Cordelia Figg, milady," the older woman said. Harry blinked.

"Any relation to Arabella Figg?" she asked, though the chances of her crazy old muggle babysitter being related to a random witch were very low.

"My sister, milady," Cordelia said. 

"Oh, wow. She was my babysitter!" Harry exclaimed. "Er, are you a Muggleborn, then?"

"Certainly not!" she cried, looking offended. "Arabella and I are both as Pureblood as they come! Our family has served the Ancient Houses since the days of Merlin! No, milady, my sister was unfortunate enough to be born a Squib."

Harry winced. "Oh. I'm sorry, Ms Figg."

"It is no fault of your own, milady. And it's merely Cordelia."

"Alright then," Harry said, then looked to the girl. "And I'm sorry for ignoring you. What's your name?"

The girl curtsied again, just a short little bob up and down. "Sally-Anne Perks, ma'am."

Harry knew that name. She thought back, searching for Sally's face in her memory. She snapped her fingers. 

"That's right! You're a Hufflepuff, aren't you?"

Sally went pink and tears welled up in her eyes. Harry blanched. What had she done wrong?

"I wa-wa--I was, but--"

"For Mordred's sake, girl!" Cordelia snapped. "My Lady, the child's parents are Muggleborn. She did not have the tuition necessary to finish her schooling and was removed from the roster at the end of last year."

"But that's awful! Sally, I am so sorry!" She started crying again, and Harry's heart broke a little. Desperate to stop the tears, Harry said:

"Hey, it's going to be okay, I promise. I'll help you, alright?"

Sally's head snapped up. "My--my Lady?"

Harry smiled as kindly as she could, reaching out to take her hands. Sally was trembling but she clutched at Harry like a lifeline.

"I have loads of gold," Harry said. "I don't even know what to do with it all! You'd be doing me a favor, really."

"Thank you! Thank you so much!" Sally managed. Her grin could have lit an entire castle and Harry grinned back in delight. 

"Sally-Anne," Cordelia barked. "Control yourself!"

"She's just excited," Harry defended, but Sally pulled away, bowing her head.

"Now," Cordelia said, moving forward. "My Lady must be prepared for company. Do you have a preferred robe style?"

Harry let herself be gently but firmly towed along to the bathroom by the older witch. 

"Er, I wouldn't really know the difference," Harry said. Cordelia hummed in disapproval as she set about preparing a bath.

"Well, Sally-Anne can tutor you on the subject later. Whatever her faults, the child has an impeccable fashion sense. Speaking of, please remove those awful rags, milady. They're not fit to be worn by a house elf."

Harry silently agreed, but she wasn't about to strip in front of two strangers.

"A little privacy?" she suggested. Sally sent her a commiserating smile but Cordelia seemed baffled.

"Whatever for? We're all ladies, unless Sally-Anne has been hiding something extraordinarily well."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I'm comfortable with you seeing me naked!"

"Child--I mean, milady--you are making an awful lot of fuss about nothing at all! Off with your rags, now!"

"No," Harry said. She folded her arms and pointed her nose in the air, channeling Malfoy for all she was worth. "In fact, I order you to leave. At once!"

Cordelia cracked a smirk.

"Very good. I'll make a Lady of you yet. But unfortunately, I am under strict instructions from Heir Slytherin himself to climaticise you to the aspects of our world your Hogwarts education has overlooked. Starting with appropriate bathing habits. Now, you will remove your clothes or I will remove them for you! Milady."

Harry prepared herself for a fight, but Sally hurried forwards.

"I can try," she told Cordelia. "I--Maybe she'll be more comfortable with someone her age."

Then, in a whisper to Harry: "She really will just vanish the clothes right off you, ma'am. Just pretend like you're in the locker rooms, alright milady?"

Slowly, Harry did as she was told. All in all, the process wasn't as bad as she expected. Sally and Cordellia treated it as completely normal and with a professional briskness she found comforting. Though she really didn't get why she couldn't undress when alone.

Still, Harry was happy to clamber into the relative privacy of the bubble bath. She watched closely as Cordelia emptied out her pockets. The locket gained a hum of approval.

"Most beautiful, my Lady. The only fitting piece of apparel I've seen from you. I shall place it on the vanity, along with your other momentos."

She left, and Harry made a rude gesture at her back. Sally giggled as she messaged a frothy potion into Harry's scalp.

"So...how did you become a, er, maid if you don't mind my asking? And here of all places!"

"Oh, I don't mind," Sally said, though when Harry glanced up her face was pink again.

"My mum is a maid for the Bones House. Head maid, actually. She's a Muggleborn, so job prospects were always going to be poor, but she didn't have the NEWT scores for a Ministry job. She got lucky, really. The Boneses are the only Noble family in Britain that don't believe in owning elves, and I'm even luckier. Mum was ecstatic when she saw the notice for a young Lady's feminine escort in the paper."

"If her best option was to be a servant, why didn't she just go back to the muggle world? Not that there's anything wrong with being a maid," Harry added hastily. "Or a, um, feminine escort."

"Well, she didn't have the education for it. And her parents kicked her out when she got her letter and told everyone she ran away. Mum didn't have any place else to go but here."

"That's horrid!" Harry said angrily. She tried to turn and look at Sally but the girl's hands were firm in her hair.

"Maybe. But it's not all bad. Mum met my da in the Muggleborn hostel she stayed at during the summers. He was a junior potioneer for Jigger and Slug's Apothecary. And Susan Bones is my best friend because of mum's work."

"I guess." Harry let it go. Sally's tone was practically begging her to drop the subject. The bath was finished in silence, and Sally considerately turned her face away when Harry climbed out of the tub and pulled on a dressing gown.

As if called, Cordelia reappeared. She took Harry by the elbow and walked her back to the bedroom.

"I have several options of robes laid out for you. I do hope they meet your _exacting_ standards."

Harry sighed through her nose. 

"A Lady does not huff," Cordelia snapped. Harry yelped in shock as a stinging hex impacted her backside.

"What the--? What is wrong with you?!"

"A Lady. Does not. Huff. Nor does she squeal like a commoner. You mistake my harshness for cruelty, milady. Your new life will not be like the old, surrounded by muggles and _progressives_. Composure is a matter of survival where you are headed, and I will not fail my Lord by turning out a naive lamb of a girl for the slaughter!"

"I am not naive!" Harry yelled. Another stinging hex.

"That you chose to focus only on that part of my words proves the point! You lack discipline!"

Harry bared her teeth in some base, animalistic instinct, and got a third hex for her troubles. Fury surged through her veins, but Harry closed her eyes for a second and called up a Dursley Face. She couldn't afford to snap and punch the stupid old lady on the nose. Not when good behavior brought her one step closer to seeing her friends again.

She opened her eyes. Cordelia was blinking in astonishment. Harry leveled her with the cold look she gave Dudley when he'd said something she didn't want him to know had hurt her. 

"Why, that's...that's perfect, milady."

Harry softened her mask enough to raise an eyebrow as she sauntered over to examine the clothes laid out. All three were completely different from one another and worlds apart from anything she'd worn before:

A silvery-gray dress with sheer, off the shoulder sleeves, skirts like liquid mercury, and lace along the bodice. A emerald gown embroidered with snakes and monstrously ruffled skirts. A two-piece set with a daring neckline, slit up the leg, and over robes made of black lace. Any one of them would go perfectly with her locket. 

Harry chose the silver one as the least offensive, but paused in irritation at the mass of strings and zips and clasps she found when lifting it up.

"You will put on your underthings first," Cordelia commanded, holding up a silken little...leotard thing with no back. Harry resisted the urge to slap the old witch. Once she put them on Sally did up the invisible laces in the back, which just seemed ridiculous. Then she pulled a simple slip, also with no back, over Harry's head. As if Harry was a baby who couldn't dress herself.

After that it was time for the gown. It took the both of them to get it _on_ , let alone done up. First they had to tighten an inner layer that acted like a corset, then do up the million little fastenings that didn't seem to do anything except make it too tight, and finally tie the strings that crisscrossed in intricate patterns across her exposed back.

"Are we done yet?" Harry whined--that's right, she would admit it--when the two witches finally stepped back. "And why didn't you just use magic?"

"The enchantment in the fabric are too delicate for such things," Cordelia sniffed. "And no, milady. We are far from done."

 _It's for a good cause. It's for a good cause. It's for a good cause_.

From there, Harry was wrestled into lacy stockings with lacy garters, lacy black gloves and, surprise surprise, stupidly delicate slippers with _lace_. 

" _Now_ are we done?"

"No." She was forced over to a vanity with several makeup products Lavender and Parvati used. 

"Pick the colors of your eye and lip paints," Cordelia said. Seized by another wave of obstinancy, Harry picked every color her dormmates told her would look awful with her 'True Autumn' skin tone. 

"Naturally," Cordelia said dryly, choosing a blue-tinted dark green eyeshadow and burgundy lipstick that she knew would actually work well with her brown complexion. Harry scowled as the witch slathered the base all over her face, neck and collarbone. 

A million painstaking minutes later, makeup was over with. She had her locket over her head and silver and emerald earrings in her ears. 

"Okay, we have to be done now, right?" Harry asked desperately. 

"No milady, not yet." This time Sally said it, the exasperation clear in her voice.

Harry sulked a little as they started messing with her hair, pulling and smoothing and twisting until her whole head hurt. She spent the time counting to ten in French over and over again. It was torture.

The result, however, was lovely. Even Harry could admit that. The sides and back of her hair were braided up to the crown of her head where her curls piled up in a sort-of-bun thing. They were glossy instead of frizzy and bounced gently when she moved her head, not like the Yule Ball where it was like she had cement in her hair.

Cordelia stepped back, satisfaction glowing in her eyes.

"Dare I ask it?" Harry said hesitantly.

Sally giggled. "Yes milady, we're done now."

"Oh thank Merlin! It's been ages!"

"Nonsense. The whole thing hardly took two hours."

"That's an hour and a half too long," Harry scoffed and, oh look at that, another stinging hex.

"I thought the dress was too delicate to use magic on!"

Cordelia did not seem particularly impressed.

"The magic is weak, and affects only skin. And beauty takes time. You're lucky you have passable bone structure and clear skin, else we would have been here a lot longer."

Harry would have groaned out loud if she didn't think it would earn another hex. 

"So we can just go do the tour now, right?" she said instead.

"Indeed. Sally-Anne will accompany you on your tour and wait on you at the celebratory feast. You may amuse yourself in the gardens or music rooms until Heir Slytherin returns."

Sally curtsied crisply. She looped her arm through Harry's and set off through the door at a brisk pace.

"Let's explore the West Wing first. This is your personal greeting room...your tea room...your lounge..."

The tour flew by at breakneck speed. Harry had a good third of the wing to herself. Voldemort--Heir Slytherin as Sally knew him--claimed another third, and the rest were for high profile guests.

The whole place reeked of wealth and Purebloods and _Slytherin_. Snakes twined around picture frames, candlesticks, chandeliers. They were carved into pillars and the bases of marble statues. There wasn't a single room or corridor without at least three snakes.

When at last the tour was over, they settled in a music room and Harry got a chance to ask the question hovering at the back of her mind.

"Sally?" 

"Yes milady?"

"Er, aren't you worried, working here?"

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Why would I be?"

"Well, your employer is the Heir of Slytherin," Harry pointed out. "And you're Muggleborn."

But Sally was already shaking her head. "Oh no, ma'am! Not at all! Heir Slytherin is not the Heir _of_ Slytherin!"

"What?" Harry asked, scrunching her nose up.

Sally pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Well, he's the most direct descendant of the Slytherin family, and therefore Heir to the Slytherin family. He has not claimed to be the Heir of Slytherin, who would be any Slytherin descendant who adopts Salazar Slytherin's ideals as his or her own." 

"Oh." Well, Harry wouldn't be the one to tell her Voldemort was definitely both, not unless Sally became endangered. Not that she knew 'Heir Slytherin' was Voldemort. Which...

"Can I ask you a stupid question?"

"O-oh, of course. I'm sure it's not stupid, though."

"It really is," Harry assured her. "So, what is Heir Slytherin's name?"

Sally blinked rapidly. "You...don't know the name of your intended, milady?"

"Well, I know _a_ name," Harry blustered. "But I'm just--not sure of what his, erm, proper name is, you see--"

"Ooh," Sally giggled, her eyes lighting up. "I see. Well, Heir Slytherin's _proper_ name is Thomas Gaunt."

"No, right, I knew that," Harry said quickly. "I was just...testing you..."

That sounded. _So_ lame.

Sally hid her snickering behind a hand and Harry cast about desperately for a subject change. Before she could, Sally did it for her.

"If milady doesn't mind me asking," she began almost shyly, "what did you know Heir Slytherin as?"

Harry's mind went blank. Sally was waiting for her answer, shrinking in her seat.

"I-I'm so sorry ma'am, that's private, I shouldn't have--"

"Tommy," Harry blurted out. "I. Call him Tommy. Yeah."

She nodded her head firmly, grateful her complexion and thick makeup wouldn't let Sally see the blush that was certainly sweeping across her cheeks.

"Aww," Sally cooed, not seeming to notice anything amiss. "And what does he call you?"

"Harriet mostly," a smooth, amused voice answered as Voldemort materialized in the doorway. "And _shaasa,_ on occasion."

Sally squeaked and bolted upright, only to curtsy low. Harry stood too but only crossed her arms.

"Like you're one to talk," she retorted, to which she received an almost cheeky grin.

 _Shaasa_ meant liar in Parseltongue. 

"Perhaps. If you would excuse us, Miss Perks?"

Sally curtsied again. "Of course, sir. Farewell Heir Slytherin, milady." 

"Farewell," they both said. Harry cursed herself silently as she realized it slipped out. It took some real effort not to use the traditional greetings and farewells when over half of Hogwarts did. It would be even harder now.

"Very nice," drawled Voldemort once they were alone. "Maybe we'll get a proper curtsy out of you someday."

Harry opened her mouth to respond. Voldemort froze, eyes fastened on her neckline. Harry bristled and then flinched as he darted forward like a striking snake. He snatched the locket from her neck in one rough move.

"What the--!"

"Where did you get this?" he demanded.

"At Grimmauld Place! I found it when I was cleaning. Why? Is it important?"

Voldemort gazed almost reverently at the lockt before glancing back at her face. He smiled slowly.

"Yes. Yes, it is important. And you, my dear, are worth far more than any treasure I have ever owned. Thank you for bringing it back to me, Harriet."

"Oh. Erm, you're welcome," Harry muttered awkwardly. There was something deeply _weird_ about her parents' murderer looking at her with such...warmth.

"So, is Sirius okay?" Harry said, changing the subject eagerly. She knew he was, because Voldemort would never be so calm if he has failed in a task.

"He's fine," Voldemort said lazily, waving a hand through the air. "I've even arranged for him to escape, just for you, love."

"Oh," Harry said, startled. "But--why?" 

"Is it not common practice to keep one's wife happy?"

Harry felt herself go as red as her skin would allow. "If not your wife," she managed.

"Not yet," Voldemort agreed. "But I've always liked to plan ahead. Shall we?"

He offered his arm with a courtly little bow. Harry debated not taking it, stomping on his foot and running away. Her wrist throbbed where the light of the Unbreakable Vow had sunk into her skin and Harry suddenly remember she swore not to do Voldemort purposeful harm.

"That's useful," she said to herself as she began walking, ignoring the arm.

"What is, dearest?"

"Oh, I just had the urge to kick you," she said sweetly.

"And the Vow reminded you not to do me harm," Voldemort nodded. "Yes, it is quite handy. I wouldn't wish to harm one of your little friends by _accident_."

He offered his arm again. Harry took it. 

"If you want to keep your future wife happy maybe you should stop threatening her friends."

"And if you want to see said friends again maybe you should stop spurning your future husband," he returned. 

Harry gritted her teeth, smoothed out her face, and gave him her fakest smile.

"I would never think of spurning my Lord," she said demurely. His eyes darkened when she said 'my Lord'. 

"You can call me Thomas when we're in public. None of that Lord nonsense. You're my intended, not my servant."

Harry swallowed but managed a nod. Why did this man have to be so _confusing_? Voldemort spent the first fourteen years of her life wanting to kill her and take over the Wizarding World. Then in the space of a few months he's declaring he doesn't want war, saving her from her well-meaning friends and offering _marriage_. In exchange for peace.

"What about in private?" she asked before she could think better of it. 

He smirked. "Why _shaasa_ , you can call me Tommy, of course." 

They stopped in front of the bedroom door.

"Farewell, dearest. It's been a long day."

"Goodnight," Harry replied automatically. Voldemort half smiled and gave that same little bow, then turned and walked away. Leaving Harry alone with her tangled mess of feelings. 


	7. Just a note, sorry!

Um...hi guys! Sorry, this isn't an actual chapter, but y'all are amazing and deserve to know what's going on and why updates are so sparse. 

Life has been pretty crazy for me lately. I moved in with my auntie, who is pregnant and has a four year old. I'm also trying to find a job and help my brother escape from our parents' house. So a lot has been on my mind and writing just hasn't been a priority. This does NOT mean I am abandoning ANYTHING! All of my stories are near and dear to my heart, and will be continued. It's just going to be a lot more sporadic in terms of updates.

Thank you so much for all of your support! It's been a huge help to me. And happy 2021! May it not suck as badly as 2020! 

-whentheyfall

**Author's Note:**

> Please refrain, my good ladies and gents and boths and neithers, from swearing in the comment section. Me eyes and ears are wee delicate things.


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